


Stone

by thosewhowearplaid



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Past Abuse, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosewhowearplaid/pseuds/thosewhowearplaid
Summary: Sansa was too busy recovering with her break up that she failed to notice her feelings towards her best friend.
Relationships: (past)Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, (past)Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48





	Stone

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea and I went with it :) I hope some people enjoy it. I know Tormund/Sansa isn't a very popular ship, but i've always liked the idea of it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The blood rushing through her body echoed in her ears; struggling to hear any of the words leaving the man’s mouth in front of her.

“What?” She croaked. She couldn’t hear anything – echoes and vibrations suffocated her.

“Sansa,” the strong voice boomed. Bronn’s voice.

Sansa stared at the man before her and squinted her eyes, she needed to focus. She needed to know the truth. His voice needed to break the bubble suffocating her. “Sorry, could you repeat that?” She asked. Her throat was on fire – it felt raw. Raw from the sobs scratching at her throat, waiting to escape.

She watched as Bronn shook his head at her, his eyes falling to the ground for a split second before reaching back up to meet her own eyes. Sansa could feel the anger radiating from the man before her, they both knew it. No, he wasn’t angry at her. Bronn was angry at _him_. Angry for having to deliver the news to her. “He’s gone, Sansa.” The words ripped through the echoes, punching her in the gut.

Sansa blinked repeatedly at Bronn; waiting for him to smirk and tell her it was a joke – a joke that they would laugh about years from that moment. But as she stood there on the pavement before the house belonging to the man she loved, she knew. She knew it wasn’t a joke. There was no more _them_. He’d left. “Gone?” Sansa repeated.

“I’m sorry, love. I tried to stop him. You know what he’s like, always the stubborn bastard,” Bronn rubbed the back of his neck. He stood in the doorway of the house, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation and look at anything else other than Sansa Stark. Anything other than her eyes. Her blue, teary, broken eyes. The guilt slapped the air out of his lungs – this wasn’t his responsibility, _damn it_. _Stupid fucking giant. Always running away from what’s good for him_.

Blinking once more at Bronn, Sansa nodded slowly. “Is he coming back?”

 _Sandor, you cunt_. “I don’t think so, love.”

Sansa swallowed the ever-growing lump in her throat, wincing ever so slightly at the motion, “right.” She looked down to her shaking hands by her side and sighed, stuffing them in her pockets. “I best be off, then. Thank you, Bronn. I wasn’t able to get hold of him, but I know why now. Thank you for talking to me and letting me know. Have a nice day.” Sansa smiled tightly at the man.

Bronn swallowed nervously, guilt wracking his whole body. He watched as the woman before him _thanked_ him, bid him a good day and then _smiled_. He liked Sansa the moment she stumbled upon Sandor and himself in the street all those months ago; but now, he admired her. He admired her bravery, even her constant need to be polite about everything, even as her body shook from the heart breaking within her chest. As he watched her smile at him, he threw his own sad smile back at her and cleared his throat, stopping her from walking away. “I’m sorry, Sansa. He should be standing her talking to you, telling you the truth and whatever fucking shit is going on in that thick skull of his. I’m sorry it had to be me to tell you. Go be happy without that fucker.”

The red-haired woman stared up at him for one more moment before a small smile graced her lips once more – a lot less forced this time, he noticed. But the sadness lingered. The sadness erupting within her; her sapphire eyes trembling as wildly as the sea surrounding their city. “Thank you.” Once Bronn returned the smile once, she turned and walked away without being stopped. Her legs shook with every step, begging her to turn around and force Bronn to tell her where he was. But she couldn’t – he left her. _Abandoned_ her.

Watching the street before her, her mind spiralled. Her eyes watched as the people bustled and carried on with their day; working, shopping, laughing, loving. King’s Landing wasn’t her home, it never had been – but she had never felt as alone as she had at that moment. Sandor left her. He told her he loved her, and he left. Sansa’s eyes followed the people around her, but her mind flew away.

_“Gods,” Sansa huffed under her breath. She gripped her portfolio tightly under her arm as she rushed through the streets of King’s Landing. She was going to be late. No one moved out of her way as she tried to push through the heaving crowds of people; it was never like the North._

_She could only imagine the state she looked – eyes wide, hair wild, cheeks flushed, heaving chest. Sansa could only scoff at herself as a small part of herself believed she would still be able to make a good impression. But she needed it. She needed them to like her, to like her designs, she needed this job. Sansa all but deserved it, she thought. Of all she had to endure during her time in King’s Landing, surely there had to be a bright side at the end of it all._

_Suddenly, her portfolio slipped from her arms and fell the floor. “Shit,” she panted. Her breath had escaped her as she had run through the city. Quickly, she bent and picked up her work. But as she began to rush off once more, her body welcomed the smack of her crashing into something hard. “Shit,” she grumbled once more._

_She looked up, to what she had believed to be a soft wall of some sort, and surprise flooded her still. Grey eyes bore into her own. A terrible scar ran over half of the side of his face. The huge man held her shoulders to steady her, an amused eyebrow raised at her panting and flushed cheeks._

_“I am so sorry,” Sansa breathed. Her heart thrummed against her aching chest, taking the rest of the oxygen she had away from her. Quickly stepping away from the man, she took in his appearance. Sansa had always been tall, but this man easily towered over her. He wore a tight black t-shirt and fitted black jeans, and Sansa wanted nothing more than to stand there and stare at the stranger before her._

_“Might want to take another breath before you rush back to your nest,” the man replied gruffly, an eyebrow still raised in amusement._

_With her own raised eyebrows, her mind went blank. For whatever reason, she couldn’t remember why she had been rushing in the first place. “What?” She asked._

_The man frowned somewhat and dropped his arms from her shoulders, “I’m assuming you don’t usually run through the streets like that, dropping your eggs everywhere.” He urged his head down at the object in Sansa’s hands._

_Sansa looked down to what he was referring to and the panic suffocated her once more. “Damn it!” She shouted. Ignoring the handsome stranger in front of her, she shoved her hands into her pocket and pulled out her phone. 9:57. She had 3 minutes to get to the Jonquil Studio. “You distracted me!” Sansa huffed at the man before her._

_“What?” The man frowned._

_“You distracted me,” Sansa breathed once more, her cheeks reddening dangerously. “With your stupid chest. I need to be at Jonquil Studio in 3 minutes and I would have had longer to get there if you hadn’t come in and shown off your stupid muscles.”_

_The man stared at her; confusion splattered upon his face. He quickly turned to his side and looked to another man next to him, whom Sansa hadn’t noticed until then. The new stranger shrugged his shoulders at the taller man and smirked._

_Before either of the men could reply to Sansa, she huffed impatiently once more. “You did it again. Now I have only 2 minutes. Thanks a lot. That’s just great.” She tucked her portfolio under her arms once more and threw her hair into a ponytail. She took a deep breath and frowned at the two men, “you may be the handsomest man I have ever met, but that doesn’t mean I’m alright with you making me late.” Sansa frowned a moment longer before standing straight upright and smiled widely, “I’m Sansa Stark. I hope to see you around sometime.” And with that, she ran off around the men and continued her sprint to the studio._

Sansa walked, not knowing how long it had been since she left the house Sandor and Bronn shared – or, _had_ shared. Thinking back to when they had first met, Sansa scoffed at herself. _You idiot_. Sansa, surprisingly, made her interview on time and _wowed_ all 4 of the interviewers; landing herself a very _comfortable_ position at Jonquil Studio. When she had returned to her apartment after the interview, she fell onto her second-hand couch and smiled widely. And then, of course, she had gone online to Facebook to send a message into her family group chat when 2 friend requests stole her attention. _Sandor Clegane_ and _Bronn Blackwater_. Neither men had profile pictures, but she knew immediately who they were. With a smile, she accepted both of the requests before turning back to the family chat and spilling of the news.

And now, 11 months later, Sansa walked around King’s Landing completely alone. 11 months of getting to know one and other, 10 months of dating, 9 months of being in love, 8 months of sexual relations. All of those months and time evaporated into nothing. Sandor had finally, _finally_ , told Sansa he loved her. After 9 months of Sansa telling him she loved him, he had finally told her he felt the same. And the next morning he left. No texts, no calls, no visits. Sansa hadn’t gone over at first, she assumed he wanted space after a bad day at work, it wasn’t uncommon. But a feeling had latched itself on Sansa – a feeling proven correct by Bronn 6 days after Sandor told Sansa he loved her.

The pain swallowed Sansa whole. Her hands and legs felt numb as she idly strolled; no destination in mind, no idea where she was going. She just needed to walk. She wanted the questions in her mind to stop – _what had I done wrong? Did he ever love me? Was I not good enough for him?_ A sudden wetness graced her cheeks. With a shaky hand, she dabbed her cheeks and her eyes. She was crying. _Great. Crying in the middle of the street where everyone can see you. Fantastic job, Sansa_.

She looked around to establish where her mind and idle feet had brought her. Sansa stood outside a coffee shop. Laughter escaped her throat as she stared at the doors of the shop; she clutched her stomach harshly and the chuckles and giggles overpowered her. She _couldn’t_ stop laughing.

“Red?” A deep voice welcomed her ears after the familiar _ding_ of the door opening.

Still laughing, Sansa looked up at the taller man with blurred vision. “Hello,” she chuckled.

“What the fuck?” The tall man asked. He scratched his bearded chin harshly as he stared at hysterical woman.

“I got dumped,” Sansa giggled. Her eyes met the shocked blue before her, and the laughter immediately ceased. Her shoulders slumped pathetically, “I got dumped, Tormund.”

A few silent seconds passed as they stared at each other. “He…” Tormund began, his voice scratchy, “ _dumped_ you? That bastard dumped you?” The tall ginger watched as tears entered the girl’s eyes and she nodded. “I’ll fucking kill him. Where’s the southern twat?” His voice boomed, eyes dancing to the street she had walked down.

Panic fluttered within her chest and she quickly marched up to Tormund, ceasing any efforts in him storming down to Sandor’s and picking a fight with Bronn in his stead, “he’s gone,” she spat out quickly. Putting her hands over Tormund’s arms, his angry eyes smacked onto hers once more. “He left. I don’t know where he is.”

Tormund looked down to Sansa’s tearful eyes and sadness erupted through his chest, replacing the anger almost immediately, “what?” He asked quietly.

“I went to his place and Bronn told me that he’d left 5 days ago. He told Bronn to tell me, he didn’t want to do it himself.”

“Oh, Sansa,” Tormund muttered quietly. Once his voice filled her ears, her face crumbled. Tears flew from her eyes and a small sob escaped her throat; Tormund quickly pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. He held her against him, aching with every sob that left her. He quickly dragged a chair from the outside seating towards him with his long leg and sat down, pulling Sansa with him. Placing her in his lap, he hugged her tighter and ran his hand through Sansa’s hair. “It’s alright, it’ll be alright,” he whispered, glaring at anyone who stared at them as they walked by.

* * *

6 months had passed since Sandor’s leaving and Sansa’s breakdown in the street. 6 months and the sadness still knocked the breath out of Sansa’s lungs sometimes. The bags under her eyes had paled somewhat, though still highly noticeable. Her sleep schedule had begun to normal once more; food no longer tasted like sand in her mouth. The pain in her chest still stung, yet nowhere near as harshly as it had done all of those months ago. The doubts of her worth still hung over her head; the lack of trust squashing any possible relationships, romantic or otherwise. However, even with her continuous lack of self-worth and trust, Sansa had a constant routine in her life – a routine with 2 people she hoped would never leave her.

Arya knocked her bedroom door repeatedly and loudly every morning before storming in and crossing Sansa’s room to throw open her curtains and welcome the sunlight into her room. “It’s a new day, Sansa,” Arya boomed _every morning_. Then, Arya would stomp loudly out of her room, telling her she’d be back in 5 minutes if she didn’t hear the shower running. Leaving Sansa only 5 minutes to groan and sulk before the inevitable whirlwind of her sister would return.

Sansa would shower, soaking her skin and hair in a honey scent and then leave the bathroom, slightly less tired and then get changed. A little bit of makeup would be applied to cover the dark bags under her eyes, adding a small tint of colour to her bland and pale cheeks, concealing any leftover sadness. Then, once she was somewhat _okay_ with her appearance, she would leave her bedroom and walk into the kitchen. Tormund would welcome her with a wide grin and a bone crushing hug. “How’d you sleep, Red?” He’d ask every morning and Sansa would reply with the same smile and kiss to his cheek, before he gave her the breakfast he had cooked, along with a cup of tea.

That was their routine. It had been their routine for 6 months; ever since Tormund had begged to move in with the Stark sisters. He told them he was being evicted and had nowhere to go, but of course, as observant as the sisters were, they knew it had nothing to do with being evicted. He wanted to be close to Sansa. He wanted to be there for her, to help and protect her. Tormund was Sansa’s best friend. She told him everything and he told her everything. He slept on the pull-out sofa bed or with Sansa in her bed; speaking for hours about everything and nothing. When the lack of self-worth or a sudden burst of sadness would hit, suffocating her, Tormund would merely hold her hand and stroke her hair and whisper the same words until the panic ceased and sleep claimed her, “ _you mean everything to me. You’re worth it._ ”

One Saturday morning as they were eating breakfast, Sansa looked around the table they sat at. Tormund sat opposite her and Arya next to her; Sansa smiled. “Why don’t we all go out today?” Tormund dropped his spoon back into his bowl, too shocked to react as the milk splattered on him and around the table. Arya turned fully in her chair to face her sister. “What?” Sansa asked.

“You want to go out?” Tormund asked.

“Yes.” Sansa arched her eyebrow slightly at the man before her.

“Sansa, you haven’t wanted to do anything _fun_ since that fucker fucked off. Forgive us for being a bit shocked,” Arya countered with a smirk.

Ignoring the ache in her chest, Sansa rolled her eyes. “Do you both want to or not?”

Arya and Tormund caught eyes over the table before turning back to face Sansa, smirks gracing both faces. “Yes,” they both replied harmonically.

“Why are you both looking at me like that?” She asked, waving her own spoon towards both of their faces.

“Like what?” Tormund asked.

Sansa eyed the ginger man before rolling her eyes once more. “I take it you both have a plan. Something you’ve been waiting for me to agree to.”

“Well,” Arya began with a smile, “since you mentioned it. There was something.” Sansa put her spoon down in her now empty bowl and took a sip of her tea, she hummed in response to her sister. “We wanted to take you to a bar. You haven’t been out in _so_ long. Even before fuckface. Actually, you haven’t been out and a had a drink since before Joffrey.”

Sansa froze with her hand holding her mug mid-air. Hearing Joffrey and Sandor, well, _fuckface_ , mentioned in the same sentence struck Sansa. She rarely thought of Joffrey anymore. Sandor took up the majority of the aches now; but hearing his name, _both of their names_ , her heart ached more than it had done in a long time. She truly had the worst luck with men – _boys_. Sansa’s eyes were frozen on her sister and she watched as Arya’s eyes widened in realisation. Sandor had rarely been mentioned since it had all happened and Joffrey had been mentioned even less. The memories ached, yes, but the look on Arya’s face hurt Sansa more. Arya, her dear little sister, felt guilty at bringing them up and regretted it instantly. Sansa closed her eyes and drew a deep breath; she felt the panic gripping her chest and throat, she could feel the phantom bruises littering her skin, she could feel the gaping hole in her chest as she realised how unloved she had always been at Bronn’s guilty words; but, with a slow exhale of the deep breath, she opened her eyes. Arya’s eyes had widened even more than before, if that was possible. As the breath escaped her, the memories and pain did too. _Maybe it is time to let it all go._ “Where were you thinking of going?” Sansa asked before taking another sip of her tea with a steady hand.

Arya stared at her for a moment with her mouth gaping open. Sansa raised her eyebrow at her sister before turning to face Tormund. He was staring at her with the same expression, though as their eyes met, his eyes softened, and his gaping mouth closed, a smile replacing it. “You sure, Red?”

Sansa thought for a moment. _Yes. It’s time to move on. No more wallowing. It’s been 3 years since Joffrey and 6 months since Sandor. Move on. Go out, have fun with your best friend and sister. You’re not in as much pain anymore, you’re finally ready._ “Definitely.”

“Sansa, come on!” Arya shouted from the kitchen.

Sansa rolled her eyes and looked at the mess on her bed once more. She had no idea what to wear. She hadn’t been out in _years._ Picking up each of the outfits to hold against her in front of the mirror, she heard Arya shout her name once again. “I’ll be 5 minutes,” she called back. She dropped the red dress back on the bed and hastily picked up the next – a simple black dress. With a small smile, she removed the robe she had on and slipped the dress on. Luckily there was no need to find a bra for the dress. The strapped black dress hugged the top half of her body tightly and loosened at the end, swaying around the mid of her thighs. She slipped on her black heels and freed her hair from its braid; her auburn hair fell loose and wavy down to her waist. Her makeup natural and pretty supported the simplicity of her outfit, along with the sweet smell of her perfume. With a small smile at her appearance in the mirror, she picked up a small bag and threw her phone, purse and perfume inside. A final look over and she nodded her head, _ready_.

She left her room and walked down the small strip of landing until she reached the kitchen/living room. Arya took in her appearance with a small smile before tapping her wrist where an invisible watch sat, “you look super nice, Sans. But we were supposed to leave 25 minutes ago.”

“We have all night,” Sansa said with a wink, eliciting a _woop_ from her sister.

Sansa stepped further into the room and watched as Tormund’s jaw hit the floor at her appearance. He slowly removed himself from the couch and gulped. “Wow. You know, we could skip out, let Arya go to the bar and we could go back to your bedroom?”

A laugh escaped Sansa’s throat, silencing the surprising erratic beating of her heart at his reaction. “Shut up, Tormund. We could never leave Arya alone – who knows who she’d end up hurting?”

Tormund’s eyes stopped raking over Sansa’s whole body and fell on her face; his eyes softened instantly. He kept his eyes glued to hers and a smile welcomed his face, before he dropped it and a smirk took its place. He turned to face Arya, as she impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, “your pretty sister is right. We can go now.” Arya rolled her eyes and marched out of the kitchen and towards the front door of their apartment. Sansa chuckled under her breath and walked towards Tormund, who stood waiting for her. They smiled at each other and Tormund placed a hand on her bare shoulder blade, “don’t you want a jacket?”

Sansa felt the burn of his hand on her shoulder and a small feeling coursed itself through her stomach, she looked at her best friend and shook her head shyly. “We’re not in the North anymore.” Sansa stated, before her eyes raked over the man’s body. He wore smart grey trousers with a tight white button up, the top two unbuttoned, and a grey jacket to match his trousers. She tugged his beard lightly, “besides, you already have a jacket.”

Tormund chuckled breathlessly and pushed her softly towards the door, “go on, Red Wolf. We can’t have the Little Wolf killing us in our sleep.”

She smiled and they both walked out of the apartment together, once again welcomed by the impatient Arya. “Gods, best friend’s my arse,” she muttered under her breath.

Sansa and Tormund laughed loudly at the smaller Stark, quickly matching her pace behind her.

Sansa hung onto Tormund’s arm tightly as they entered the busy, “you won’t leave me, right?” She asked him quietly. Sansa’s eyes skirted around the dark and dingy bar. It was only 9:40 and yet the bar heaved with people.

Tormund removed Sansa’s hand from around his arm and held it tightly in his own instead, with his free hand he held Sansa’s chin softly and turned her head to face him. “I’ll never leave you, Red. Not when we’re old and grey. Not when the Little Wolf kills me for snoring too loudly. Never. And especially not now in some shit Southern dingy bar.”

Sansa smiled at her best friend and moved to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “You sure you’re up for it? I haven’t had a drink in a while, so I’m not sure how my body will handle it.”

A loud laugh escaped the tall man, he gripped Sansa’s hand tighter, “I can’t wait.”

“Right come on, I want to get Sansa pissed,” Arya huffed as she gripped Sansa’s other hand and dragged them both to the bar. Upon noticing Sansa’s questioning look, Arya huffed. “We’re your chaperones. Our aim is to get you as drunk as possible and have as much fun as you can. Tormund is our designated driver for the night, and I want to remain at the level of _buzzed_.”

“Arya,” Sansa began, “I can’t be the only one getting drunk. That’s not fair.”

“Aye it is,” Tormund huffed from beside her. “No arguments. Let the scary woman-child order you a drink.”

Sansa laughed brightly and gripped his hand tighter, “fine. Go on then, Arya. I’ll drink whatever you hand me.” As the words escaped her mouth, Sansa wished with all of her might she could stuff them back in her mouth unspoken. She wished even harder when she heard Tormund chuckle beside her at the glistening in Arya’s eyes. Sansa sighed, “seriously, anything.”

Arya laughed excitedly and turned to the bar. Sansa rolled her eyes and allowed Tormund to drag her to a small booth. Tormund sat beside her, at the far end of their side of the booth, not allowing anyone else room to sit on their side. “I know I didn’t say it right earlier, but you do look really nice tonight, Red. I’m proud of you for coming out tonight and agreeing to have fun – you’re doing really well.”

Sansa scrunched her nose at the man’s words, and she covered her joined hands with her free hand, “thank you, Tormund. You’ve helped me so much the past few years and I don’t know where I would be without you.”

Tormund smiled. “You’re everything to me. You’re worth it.”

Sansa felt a small flutter in her chest at the words – _their words_. She stared into the blue eyes beside her, but before she could reply, a tray full of varying sized shot glasses fell to the table carefully. She spun her head around from Tormund and watched as a smug Arya fell into the seat opposite them. “Enjoy!”

Sansa’s wide eyes moved from Arya to tray _full_ of shots. Sansa quickly counted and gasped, _17 drinks._ “17? You bought me 17 shots? Why the hells so much?”

“You’ve spent 17 months of your life moping for that dickhead. With each shot, you’ll be getting rid of a month.” Arya replied, crossing her arms over her chest with a small smile.

The older Stark sister gaped at the drinks and then at her sister. She couldn’t tell if she felt hurt or grateful at the gesture. “Thank you, Arya,” Sansa spoke slowly as her eyes fell back to drinks. “Right. 17. I can do it.”

“Yeah, you can!” Arya and Tormund egged her on with a cheer.

Sansa laughed at them and shook her head, “you’re going to have to tell me what the drinks are. I have no idea.”

Arya chuckled and rolled her eyes, “of course.”

Under the table, Sansa slowly removed her hand from Tormund’s. She shot him a quick smile; relief flooded her senses when she noticed the understanding cross his face. He, in turn, threw his arm over her shoulders and held her close to him – but not too close to disable her from drinking. “Come on, Red. Get those drinks down you.”

She looked once more at all of the different coloured drinks in different sized shot glasses. She took a deep breath and grabbed the first shot glass. She narrowed her eyebrows at her sister in front of her, who smiled when she told her it was _tequila_. 1 shot for each month. 1 shot for each month she spent loving him. Their first date had been to Tormund’s coffee shop. Of course, Sandor didn’t know it at the time and his eyebrows shot up to the ceiling when he watched the tall, muscular ginger man hold _his_ date tightly against his chest, hugging her. He calmed down almost immediately when Sansa took Sandor’s hand and led him to a table, all of her attention stuck on him and not the ginger behind the counter once he had left. Sansa threw the shot down her throat, wincing at the taste. 1 month gone.

Smiling at the cheering Arya and Tormund, she reached for the second shot. As before, Arya told her the drink, _Prairie Fire_. Which, Arya told her, was another tequila shot with tabasco sauce. She grimaced at idea, earning a laugh from her friends. Quickly downing the shot, Sansa remembered their second month. Sandor hadn’t been able to see her for over a week. He’d been too busy with his own work commitments, being a personal trainer _and_ a mechanic took up a lot of his time. But Sansa didn’t mind, as long as they could text or call. But after a whole week, Sansa was itching for him. Itching to see him, to hug him, watch a film with him, anything. Just him. He had come over as a surprise, a huge bouquet of red and white roses in hand and a basket full of lemon cakes. The mere sight of him being there after what felt like so long apart couldn’t keep it in, she had to tell him. _“I love you.”_ 2nd month gone.

The third shot was darker, her throat had begun to sting somewhat at the sharp tastes of the last two shots. _Jack Daniels_. She grimaced at the smell – Sandor had ordered it when they went out for dinner at a restaurant her mind had begun to struggle to remember. They had sex that night – _finally._ She tipped the shot back and winced. “Shut up,” Sansa pointed at her laughing sister. 3rd month gone.

Her head had begun to fog slightly – it wasn’t an uncomfortable fog. It was a fog that she could use to her advantage; one to use fight the memories of Sandor quicker than she had thought it would be. Arya didn’t have time to tell her what the next 4 shots were; Sansa simply plucked them from the tray and threw them down her throat as quick as Arya could let out a breath. _His smell. The way he hugged her after a nightmare of Joffrey. The way her hand fit perfectly in his. His laugh._ The 4th month gone, 5th month, 6th month, 7th month.

Sansa took a breath after slamming the last rushed shot glass down. Arya stared at her in shock; admiration sparkled in her eyes. “I hate him,” Sansa mumbled. She tore her eyes away from Arya and grabbed the next shot. The 8th shot, their 8th month. “You know, we’d been together 8 months at this point and he still hadn’t told me he loved me. I’d told him. I told him the 2nd month. We’d had sex by this point, but he still hadn’t told me.” She threw the shot back with her shaking hand.

She missed the way Arya and Tormund met eyes and gulped; _this was not going the way it was supposed to go_.

Grabbing the 9th shot, Sansa sat up straight. “Our 9th month – we had our first serious argument; you know, a real _screaming match_. 9 months it took us. _9 bloody months_. I can’t remember what it was about anymore.” Her voice had begun to slur, and her hands shook more with every shot. “Ah,” she laughed as the 10th shot was plucked from the tray, the green shot, “10. 10th month. I don’t remember anything about this month.”

The 11th month. Their last month. Sansa stared at the tray before her, Tormund scratched his chin nervously and Arya’s eyes hardened. “Well,” Sansa laughed coldly, “the last month. He told me he loved me this month. We were in his car; we were coming back from the walk in the gardens. I _loved_ those gardens. They inspire some of my dresses, you know? The roses; tulips; sunflowers. All of them. I love them. He’d plucked one of the white roses for me. He said that the white could remind of the snow from back home, the North. He told me that one day he’d go back there with me and we’d make a life together. I was so happy I nearly cried. Then we got back to the car and I was just sitting there, just touching the rose and he told me. He told me that he’d loved me from the moment he met me, the moment he met his _Little Bird_.” Sansa’s voice trembled, she took the shot and threw it back without haste. “And then he left.”

The next 5 shots were a blur. Sansa’s mood had lightened, _thankfully_ , as she downed those. Thanking Arya and Tormund for all they’d done for her, telling them how much she loved them and wouldn’t be the woman she was without them. She cried, _a lot_. Most happy tears. But as they all stared at the last shot on the table, Sansa laughed. “Right, this is it.” She swayed in her seat, her head falling to rest on Tormund’s shoulder. “One more shot, and he’s gone. Completely gone. Gone, gone, gone!”

Arya laughed, “yeah, he is! Go one, San. Get rid of the bastard!”

Tormund laughed and Sansa smiled. She took a deep breath and smiled. “You guys are my best friends,” tears entered her eyes once more.

“Fuck sakes,” Arya rolled her eyes, though the grin smacked on her face demolished any of the foul play.

Sansa thought for a moment before nodding with a pout. “Tormund, my gorgeous bear, help me up.”

“What?” Tormund laughed.

Sansa rolled her eyes and stood up, before swooping the shot up in one hand and climbing on top of the table. Tormund shot up immediately, gripping her thighs in case she fell. Though, both his and Arya’s eyes stared at the woman with amusement.

“Excuse me!” Sansa shouted at the rest of the bar over the music. Many heads turned to face the _very_ drunk woman on the table.

Arya laughed loudly in her seat as the music was cut and _everyone_ in the bar had turned to look at her sister.

“Hello,” Sansa smiled. She waved at everyone and pouted when some didn’t wave back. “My name is Sansa Stark. Today is the first day in over 3 years I have had a smidge of alcohol. And this,” she held up the brown coloured shot, “is my 17th shot. 17 shots for 17 months.”

Cheers were heard from across the bar and the 3 in the booth laughed. Suddenly, a voice Sansa recognised spoke up – well, she thought she recognised. “You single, love?”

Sansa, though in her drunken mind, felt the hands gripping her thighs tighten ever so slightly. Her head snapped down to the ginger man beside her, “I’m finally taller than you.”

Tormund let out a loud laugh, “come on, Red. Drink the bloody shot! Forget the past 17 months and I’ll show you why I’m letting you tower over me.” His eyebrows danced and she noticed how the bottom of her dress skimmed just above his eyeline.

Several more shouts and cheers were heard from across the bar, along with Arya’s muttered, “Seven hells.”

Sansa scoffed at the man and shook her head playfully, “you’re insatiable.” She turned once more to face the rest of the bar; everyone was eyeing her eagerly. All eyes were on her. And as she towered over them all, helped by the table _and_ her natural height _and_ her heels. But as she held the shot glass to her lips, her blue eyes met grey. _Sad grey_. “What the fuck?” She gasped. “What the fuck?” She repeated again, this time louder – _a lot_ louder.

That voice – the voice she recognised. Bronn _bloody_ Blackwater. He was standing next the one and only Sandor _fucking_ Clegane.

“Sansa?” Tormund asked.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him and neither could he. He stood there in the somewhat same outfit he wore all those months ago. 17 months ago. “You have got to be fucking kidding me?” She groaned. Sansa could feel her heart clench painfully in her chest.

The table shook suddenly, and Sansa felt the floor beneath her fall before a strong hand gripped her waist and held her against them. She turned her head and saw Tormund standing on the table next to her. His eyes locked on the same person hers had been seconds ago. “Ah, fucking hell. Fucking, shit. Shit. Cock. Shit.” Tormund whispered.

“What?” Arya shouted. “What is it?” The table shook once more, not as violently as before. And Arya quickly joined Sansa and Tormund, along with a whole number of those in the bar staring at Sandor _fucking_ Clegane. “No way!” She growled. She all but spun to face her sister, “Sansa, drink it. Drink the shot. Forget this. Forget all of it. He fucked you up big time, he left you alone and didn’t explain why. He just fucked off like a coward.” Sansa tore her eyes from grey and turned to face her little sister, her dear sister. Arya jumped from the table and stood at the floor staring up at her. “Drink! Drink! Drink!” She chanted, running back to the bar.

Soon enough, strangers had begun to join in. The words echoed around the room, crowding her already drunken mind. Her eyes locked on grey once more. He shook his head. _Please,_ he begged silently with his eyes, _don’t forget about me, Little Bird._ Her hand wavered. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it this. Not to him.

Just as Sansa had begun to slowly move the shot glass further from her lips, a soft finger directed her chin to face them. Blue. Blue eyes. Pretty blue eyes. “Come on, Red. You’re everything to me. You’re worth it. You’re worth more than all the shit he put you through.” He was taller than her again, though only a small amount due to her heels.

“You won’t leave me?” She asked quietly, ignoring the chanting around them.

Tormund tore his eyes away from her a moment and chuckled; Sansa turned followed his eyes and saw Arya holding her own shot and one for Tormund. He took the shot with one, still holding Sansa’s waist with the other. Arya quickly jumped back atop the table and smiled at her sister. Arya raised her own shot glass and swallowed the liquid. Cheers erupted from the strangers. Sansa smiled fondly at her little sister before turning back to Tormund.

His shot glass remained full and his eyes bore into her own; “I will never leave you.” He raised his shot glass to her and raised an eyebrow.

A sigh escaped her smiling lips; “you truly are insatiable, Tormund Giantsbane.” She tapped her shot glass against his and they lifted the glasses together, throwing the liquid back.

She swallowed the shot and then the sudden buzz of alcohol and being drunk returned. Her knees felt like jelly; though she knew not whether it was from the alcohol or from the man at the back who continued to stare at her. She turned to face the cheering crowd and laughed, she curtseyed dramatically. Tormund chuckled and jumped from the table and grabbed her waist once again, carrying her down from the table. Once she stood on solid ground once more, her legs stumbled. The attention from the rest of the strangers had faltered and no one payed her more attention; of course, apart from Bronn and Sandor.

“You alright?” Tormund asked. He gripped her tightly against him so she didn’t stumble once again.

Sansa laughed and patted her hand softly against the man’s cheek, “I’m too drunk. Ask me in the morning.”

Tormund laughed before turning to face Arya. His laughter ceased immediately, their eyes bore into each other, the same knowing look struck upon each other. “I need to piss. Keep her away from him, then we’ll get the fuck out of here.”

Arya nodded and they both turned to face their attention on Sansa once again. Instead, welcomed to an empty spot where Sansa _had_ been. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Arya growled.

Tormund grabbed Sansa’s bag from their booth and marched to where Sandor had been standing. “Oi!” He shouted when his eyes fell upon the man.

Sandor’s eyes snapped to the gingers and tensed his jaw.

“Where the fuck is she?” Arya barked as they approached and stood in front of Bronn and Sandor, who both leaned against the wall with a small drink in hand.

“Who?” Bronn pressed.

“Sansa. Who the fuck do you think?” Arya shouted.

“She was with you the last time we looked,” Sandor gritted. His eyes still trained solely on Tormund.

“ _Where the fuck is she_?” Arya sneered once more, stepping closer to Sandor.

A sudden laugh erupted from Bronn and all 3 pairs of eyes turned to him. He laughed once more and continued to laugh, holding his belly. He was looking towards the bar. They all followed his eyes and watched as Sansa stumbled back, carrying 3 large glasses of whatever the hell it was.

Her tongue was poking out of her mouth as she focused on each step, spilling a little of each drink every time one of her heeled feet hit the floor. Her eyebrows were knitted together in concentration. The anger eased in Tormund as he watched Sansa slowly approach, he quickly looked back to Bronn as he continued to laugh, before his eyes landing on Sandor. His expression had softened, his eyes were sad. _So sad_.

“Tor!” Sansa cried sadly as more liquid fell from her glass.

Chuckling softly, Tormund moved away from the group and met Sansa. “You alright, Red?”

Tears filled her eyes instantly, “no! I spilled my drink, Tor!”

Holding back another chuckle, he nodded sympathetically. “It’s alright, Red. Let me take one from you and then you won’t spill them anymore.”

She considered it for a moment before shaking her head and holding the three glasses tightly against her chest. “No. I have a tab now, so I can’t drink until I’ve paid the tab.”

“That’s not how it works, Sansa,” Tormund laughed.

“It’s not?” She asked, tilting her head curiously at him.

“No,” he smiled.

“Oh,” she smiled back. Her tears forgotten, “Alright, hold these.”

Tormund chuckled as he took two glasses away from her, though before he could suggest walking back over to Arya, Sansa brought her glass to her lips and chugged the liquid. The large gin glass emptied in seconds. “Fucking hell, Red,” Tormund laughed loudly.

Sansa peered into her now empty glass and frowned. Tears filled her eyes once more before she looked up and over Tormund’s shoulder. She gasped loudly and put the empty glass down on the closest table. “Oh my Gods!”

“What?” Tormund asked, spinning around to see Bronn, Sandor and Arya staring at them.

A small sound, a squeal of some sort, escaped her lips. She took off running wobbly towards them before Tormund could put the glasses and hold her back. His stomach clenched as she watched Sansa run towards them – to him. Tormund blinked and watched as Sansa threw her arms around Bronn’s neck. Holding him tightly in a hug.

He walked over quickly and listened to the silence as Sansa hugged Bronn. Bronn was hugging her back, just as tight. With one raised eyebrow, he turned to face Arya, who just shrugged back in confusion. Even the damned Sandor had the decency to look confused.

“Oh, Bronn!” Sansa spoke finally. “I’ve missed you.”

Bronn chuckled and tightened the hug, “I missed you too, love. It’s been a while.”

Sansa laughed and stood back, both releasing each other partially as they still held each other’s arms. She pursed her lips for a moment, “well, I saw you a moment ago. I was standing on the table over there,” she pointed back. “But you distracted me and asked if I was single!” She laughed. Her drunken mind pleased Arya tremendously.

Tormund watched the tall man behind Bronn flinch.

“Ah,” Bronn spoke. “I always want to know if you’re single, love. You know how much I love it when you let your hair down.” He twirled a piece of her long hair between his fingers and winked at Sansa.

The pit in Tormund’s stomach grew, the anger scratching at his throat. “Alright,” he growled. He shoved the gin glasses into Arya’s hand and scooped a hand around Sansa’s waist, pulling her away from Bronn. “Come on now, Red. We’re leaving.”

“Tormund!” Sansa laughed as his hand tickled her. She looked back for Bronn before her eyes landed on the man behind him. “What are you doing here?” She growled, her laughter ceasing.

“Red,” the ginger warned softly. They only stood a couple of metres from Sandor, his eyes twitched at the nickname.

“No,” she pushed Tormund’s hands away from her and she stood straight. “Why are you here?” Sansa asked Sandor once more.

“I came home,” Sandor shrugged gruffly.

Arya scoffed loudly as she walked back over to Sansa, sipping on one of Sansa’s drinks.

“You came home?” Sansa asked eerily quiet. She grabbed one of the drinks from Arya and drunk, she kept her eyes fixed on Sandor and shook her head as she pulled her lips away from the glass after she had drained half of the liquid. “Why now? Why’d you come back after all of this fucking time?”

Sandor grunted in response, his eyes darkening. “I thought I’d have something waiting here for me. Apparently, I was wrong. You couldn’t stay put and wait, could you, Little Bird?”

Tormund and Arya flinched at the response. Sansa, however, stood up straighter and smiled. _Smiled_. Bronn narrowed his eyebrows at the woman who smiled. Arya and Sandor, however, moved. Arya took a subconscious step forward towards Sansa, as Sandor took one backwards, regret flashing in his eyes.

“Let’s go, Sans. It’s not worth it,” Arya spoke softly as Tormund carefully took the drink from Sansa’s hands and passed it to the smaller Stark.

Sansa ignored her sister. She continued to stare at Sandor with a smile. Her hands shook as she moved them behind her back and her eyes steeled. “Red?” Tormund asked quietly.

“Tormund, talk to her,” Arya spoke quickly.

“What’s going on?” Bronn asked.

Arya snarled at the man, “she’s having a flashback.”

“A flashback? Why?” He asked, watching Sansa with careful eyes.

“Because, that _cunt,_ ” she growled, her teeth snapping in Sandor’s direction, “used the words Joffrey used to.”

Bronn’s eyes widened at Sandor. Tormund clenched and unclenched his fists, _don’t beat the shit out of him. Help Sansa, then kill him_. With an exhale of breath, he moved and stood behind Sansa. “Red? Can you hear me?” Silence. “Red, I’m going to take your hand now. Okay? It’s just me, Tormund. I’m going to take your hand and hold it.” He carefully unpeeled her clenched hands behind her back and took her right hand in his. Slowly, he walked round to her front and knelt in front of her, her hand in his. “Sansa? Don’t get stuck in that beautiful mind of yours. Come back to me. You’re everything to me, you’re worth it. You’re worth it, Sansa. I’m not going to leave you, I promise. I will never leave you. Arya will never leave you. You come back to us now, you hear? Come back to me. Can’t leave me all alone with your wolf of a sister. I’ll be dead by the end of the week.” A small laugh escaped her lips. “See? Knew you could hear me. You’re everything to me. You’re worth it. I’m not leaving you here alone.” He stroked her hand softly, until he felt the familiar clench around his.

Her eyes cleared and she slowly looked down to the kneeling ginger man. “Tor, can we go home?”

Tormund smiled and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the back of her soft hand. “Aye.” As he stood back up, he held her hand in his tighter and gave her the strength she needed to stare at the man who broke her heart.

“You left _me_. You didn’t tell me why; you didn’t even drop me a text. You just packed your shit and left. Don’t blame me for not waiting around for you. It’s taken me 6 months to move on and I still don’t feel good enough for _anyone_.” Sansa took a deep breath and watched as Sandor’s face remained still and lack of any emotion, “did you even love me?”

No sound left Sandor’s mouth. No emotion passed over his eyes. Nothing. All eyes fell from Sansa to look at the tall, scarred man. “Fucking cunt,” Bronn muttered at his friend.

Still, Sandor had no reply. Arya scoffed and downed the rest of the 2 drinks, “come on, Sans. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Sansa stood and stared into the grey eyes, _come on. Prove to me that you loved me. Please don’t do this to me. Don’t break my heart again. You left me – you owe it to me._ Yet, the man remained still and silent. “Yeah,” Sansa replied quietly. She tore her tearful eyes away from him and fell on Bronn, “it was nice to see you, Bronn. Text me?”

“Will do,” he winked. Bronn felt the feeling rise in his stomach once again, the feeling he had felt when she walked up to his doorstep 6 months ago. The feeling of pride at her strength, but the feeling of anger and guilt at the bastard who had broken her heart – again.

She forced a smile at the man and then turned back to face Arya. “Ready?”

The smaller Stark nodded with a tense jaw and tugged Sansa’s free hand, pulling her away from the group. Sansa felt as Tormund’s hand fell from her other and she looked back at him, “you go ahead. I’ll meet you at my car.”

Her blue eyes danced from Tormund to Sandor before nodding slightly, she turned back around and allowed Arya to drag her away from the bar and away from Sandor.

As soon as Tormund’s eyes watched Sansa leave out of the door, he snapped back around to face the two men. “You stay the fuck away from her, alright?” His voice low as his wild eyes bore into Sandor’s.

“He will,” Bronn responded quickly.

Sandor and Tormund shot their eyes towards the thinner man. “What?” Sandor grunted.

Bronn rolled his eyes and tensed his jaw, “oh fuck off. You basically just told the girl you didn’t love her and never had. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell the ginger man you won’t go near his girl. You’re the one who fucked it up, not her. She did fuck all wrong.”

“Ha!” Tormund barked, ceasing the challenging glares between Bronn and Sandor. “I like you, you strange man. But you,” Tormund faced Sandor once more, “I don’t like. She’s changed, happier now. We’re going to keep it like that.”

“She won’t remember I was here in the morning anyway,” Sandor huffed.

“Aye, I hope your right.” Tormund nodded.

Sandor tensed his jaw, “when did you two start fucking anyway? I thought you were just friends when we met.”

Tormund clenched and unclenched his fist once more, fighting the urge not to slam his fist into the scarred man’s face. “Still just friends.”

“Oh, fuck off, Giantsbane,” Sandor’s laughter barked around them. “You two were never like that before I left.”

“We were.” His jaw tensed, the muscles in his arms ached. “You just never stuck around to notice.”

Sandor eyed the ginger, searching for the lie. Searching for a lie that couldn’t be found. It was true; Tormund knew it, Bronn knew it, and Sandor knew it deep down, too. They had always been close. Sandor noticed on their first date. Sansa had asked if they could go to a coffee shop that she loved; she told him how much she loved the stringed lights hanging from the ceilings, she loved the hot chocolate with cream and sprinkled shredded chocolate pieces on top. Sansa’s eyes lit up at the mention of the coffee shop – so, of course, Sandor agreed.

_They walked into the shop and the smell of coffee graced his nose almost immediately, the little bell rang behind them. A loud, gruff voice called for someone called Red, and quickly ran from behind the counter and towards them. The ginger man, not as tall as Sandor but taller than Sansa, picked up the red-haired in a hug. Sandor could feel the thumping of his heart in his chest. Jealousy. Sandor was jealous of the man holding Sansa. The ginger man put Sansa back down the ground and smiled widely at her, his blue eyes quickly fell on Sandor. He scanned him up and down for a brief second and smiled, “Tormund Giantsbane. The other man in Sansa’s life.”_

_“Shut up, Tor,” Sansa laughed. She turned around to face Sandor with a wide smile. “He’s my best friend who owns this place. Tormund, this is Sandor Clegane.”_

_Sandor looked around the empty coffee shop and noticed the stringed lights, they dangled from the ceiling, white and bright. The walls were covered in wooden panels; the counter was also a darker wood and held a case for cakes and sandwiches. A large menu board was pinned on the wall behind the counter, listing a reasonable amount of drinks. On each of the tables sat a small white vase holding heather and pansies. “The lights remind me of the North,” Tormund spoke._

_“It’s like snow,” Sansa beamed. Sandor looked down from the lights and to her smiling face. Her eyes bright and her cheeks pinked ever so slightly. Sansa smiled wider back up at him._

_“Right, what would you like to drink?” Tormund asked._

_“Coffee, black. Please.” Sandor replied._

_“On it,” Tormund nodded and moved away from them both and back to behind the counter and to the wall which held the menu, along with the machines and cafetières, and all the other shit the ginger giant needed to make coffee._

_Sansa grabbed Sandor’s hand softly and pulled them away from the counter. “Don’t you want anything?” Sandor asked Sansa as she led them to a table at the back, but not too far from the counter and her friend._

_Sansa smiled and opened her mouth to reply before her ginger friend stole the words from her mouth, “she gets the same thing every time. There’s no need for her to order.”_

_She sat down and rolled her eyes. “Stop eavesdropping. Not your date.”_

_Tormund walked over to their table, a mug of steaming black coffee in one hand and a large mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and shredded chocolate in the other. “Yes, my lady.” He winked._

_They both thanked the ginger man. “Ignore him,” Sansa spoke, “he’s only teasing to get back at me.”_

_“Why, what did you do?” Sandor asked with a raised eyebrow, they both ignored the scoff from the man at the counter._

_“I asked him to close the shop for today.” Sansa used a spoon to scoop some of the cream and chocolate into her mouth, smiling as her taste buds sung._

_Trying to ignore the way the spoon sat perfectly in her mouth, Sandor drew his eyes to the flowers on the table. “Why?”_

_She shrugged, scooping more cream with the spoon, “I wanted to spend the day with you. Alone. I didn’t want to get distracted.”_

_His eyes snapped up to the beautiful woman before him. The woman who closed a shop for him. The woman who wanted to spend time with him – only him. “Oh,” he muttered, ignoring the thumping of his heartbeat screaming in his ears. “Thank you. How’d you manage to convince him?” He smirked._

_A laugh escaped her lips, “I’m his best friend.”_

_“Which means,” Tormund spoke once more from the counter, “whatever Red needs, she gets.” He walked over to them again and smiled at Sandor and winked at his best friend, “right, I’m off. Help yourself to whatever you want – apart from the safe in the back. Do you have your key to lock up after?”_

_Sansa fished her hand into her black bag and pulled out a wolf keyring with 4 keys on. “Got it.”_

_“Good. Have fun both of you.” Tormund shook Sandor’s hand and winked at Sansa. “See you later, Red.”_

_“Bye,” Sansa replied softly. Sandor watched as her eyes followed the man out of the shop._

Sandor stared now at the ginger man, all those months later. He watched as his wild eyes danced between himself and Bronn. His knuckles white as his fists clenched tightly by his side. “I did,” Sandor grunted. “Love her, I mean.” Sandor could feel the pain ripping through his chest, the pain he had tried so hard to forget about. No amount of alcohol or working out, or anything at all, could get rid of the agonizing pain searing his chest and stomach.

“Yeah.” Tormund rolled his eyes, forcing his own throat to push through the anger. “Sure you did. And I fucked a bear.”

“Fuck off,” Sandor huffed angrily. “Go back to the Little Bird and take her home. She needs to get some sleep.”

Red flashed before his eyes, the anger seared through his whole body as he stomped forwards as quick as either of the men could blink and threw his whole fist against Sandor’s nose. “She can do what the fuck she wants. Don’t need no cunt telling her what’s best for her.” The words escaped Tormund’s mouth as he drew his fist back from the nose and watched as Sandor clutched his bleeding nose, hissing in pain. “Go back to wherever you ran off to. She doesn’t need you here.”

Bidding a nod to the wide-eyed Bronn and scowling at the bleeding Sandor once more, he shook his fist and turned his back. He ignored those who stared at him as he walked out of the bar. The anger dissolved almost immediately as the fresh air filled his nose and lungs; his knuckles throbbed. Taking a look down to his fist, a chuckle left his throat, _finally punched the cock._ However, as much as pride wanted to take over his body, Tormund knew Sansa would freak the moment she realised what had happened in the morning. A sigh replaced the chuckle and he moved further away from the door to the dingy bar and out to the empty street. The street was dark, barely lit from the streetlights and lights from the bar and other bars littered amongst the street. He had no idea how Arya had found this place; it truly was the worst area of King’s Landing. The street itself emitted a _dodgy_ vibe. With another sigh, Tormund continued up the street and towards the car park a few minutes away from the bar.

As he finally reached the car park, all remnants of anger and worry dissolved. His heart hammered in his chest wildly. Arya was leaning against his car, laughing hysterically and clapping as her sister, her beautiful sister, danced around the car park whistling and playing an imaginary flute. Catching Arya’s attention, her eyes scanned him, landing quickly on the knuckles he rubbed soothingly. Shooting him a smirk, she nodded. “You lucky bastard.”

Chuckling, Tormund found Sansa once more. Both watched as she continued to whistle a tune they hadn’t heard before. The sounds only lasted a couple more minutes until she bowed and smiled up at the two, who both now stood against the car. “Thank you,” she beamed as they clapped. “But we need to go home before I throw up.”

The words spilled out of his mouth, “home it is.” Arya unlocked the car and threw the keys back at him, getting in the back seat. Tormund caught they keys and held out a hand for Sansa; he opened the passenger side door and they smiled at each other as she got in.

An incessant drilling in her head woke Sansa up. Her mouth was dry, her eyes stung, and the constant _thumping_ emitted a groan from her throat. Gods, her head was burning. Groaning once more, Sansa peeled her eyes open. Luckily, her black out curtains refrained any light to enter her room and burn her brain and eyes any further. She looked around her room and her eyes quickly fell on the clock on her white bedside table – 12:18pm. With a cocked eyebrow, Sansa tried to remember the night before, she must have been pretty wasted for Arya and Tormund to have let her sleep in this late. However, her eyes lingered on the bedside table. Next to her clock sat a glass of water and 2 tablets, presumably paracetamol. With a smile, Sansa ignored the burning erupting through her body as she sat up and grabbed the water and tablets. The water eased the dryness of her mouth and throat, but she knew it would take a little while until the tablets kicked in and save her from the headache. She hadn’t had a hangover in so long, she suddenly missed the idea of staying sober for the rest of her life.

Looking down to herself, she realised she hadn’t been wearing her dress – _okay, either Arya helped me dress or I wasn’t that drunk._ But as she looked harder, she realised that Arya had definitely dressed her, there was no way Sansa would have chosen the sweats she had bought to wear to the gym, even drunk Sansa wouldn’t confuse the outfit for pyjamas. She laughed quietly, hissing immediately at the action, before turning to the beside table once more and grabbed her phone. Turning the brightness down to adjust to the light, she realised she had 3 texts.

 **Tormund (8:42):** Left you water and tablets so your hangover doesn’t kill you. Let me know if and when you wake up. Or if you need someone to hold your hair whilst you throw your guts up ;)

 **Arya (8:50):** The ginger bastard woke me up to tell me he’s left you water. Sort that fucker out, San. He woke me up to tell me he brought YOU water. THAT IS NOT A GOOD ENOUGH REASON. Hope you don’t die tho. BTW - will be out for most of the day.

 **Unknown (11:02):** Hi. Can we talk?

Sansa furrowed her eyebrows at the unknown number. She quickly replied to the two others, thanking Tormund for the water and tablets and reassured them both that she hadn’t, in fact, died in her sleep.

Looking back at the unknown number and text once more, she sighed. Her fingers typed out a response.

 **Sansa Stark (12:24):** Sorry, who is this? I don’t have your number saved.

Sansa needn’t put her phone down for long; as soon as she reached for her water once more, her phone vibrated in her hand. Taking a small sip of water, she read the text.

 **Unknown (12:25):** It’s Bronn

 **Sansa Stark (12:25):** Hi! So sorry. I didn’t realise you had a new number. What’s up?

 **Bronn (12:25):** That’s alright, haha. I was just wondering if you got home alright last night. You were pretty wasted. How you feeling?

Memories smacked into Sansa, leaving her with a heaving chest and a constructed heart. The 17 shots for each month. The chanting and cheering as she stood on the table. Sandor’s eyes. His grey, sad eyes. The flashback. He never loved her.

 **Sansa Stark (12:32):** I got home alright, thanks. I hope I did, anyway. I don’t really remember much. I’m pretty hungover right now, my head feels like it’s splitting :/

 **Bronn Stark (12:33):** You don’t? Also, hope you’re not hungover for too long.

 **Sansa Stark (12:34):** Nope. I suppose it’s for the best really. I remember you both being there, but it’s all a bit foggy. Please don’t remind me of all the details, too hungover for the emotional turmoil right now, hahah :). And thank you.

 **Bronn (12:34):** I won’t, don’t worry.

 **Sansa Stark (12:35):** I hope your head is pounding as much as mine is.

 **Bronn (12:36):** Low blow. Why?

 **Sansa Stark (12:37):** Need someone to feel my pain ;)

 **Bronn (12:37):** The ginger and little Stark not hungover?

 **Sansa Stark (12:38):** Na. They didn’t drink last night, apart from one shot each. Tor was the designated driver and Arya just wanted me to drink as much as possible. Though, Arya did complain this morning about Tor waking her up too early

 **Bronn (12:40):** You not living with your sister anymore then?

 **Sansa Stark (12:41):** Yeah. But Tor is here now too :)

 **Bronn (12:43):** Oh. I didn’t realise you two were together. Congrats!

 **Sansa Stark (12:45):** What? No. No. Gods no. Nope. We’re not together.

 **Bronn (12:49):** Shit sorry. I thought you only had a 2 bed apartment? Oh, hells don’t tell me he’s fucking your sister.

 **Sansa Stark (12:50):** Ew, ew, ew, ew! No! Arya + Tor = NO. He sleeps on the couch sometimes.

 **Bronn (12:50):** Ha, sorry! Sometimes?

 **Sansa Stark (12:51):** Yeah, it’s a pull out. But sometimes he’ll sleep in my bed with me. I get nightmares a lot, so he helps me out. Or we’ll be watching a movie and we fall asleep. It’s not every night, but it’s nice. Plus, he’s good at cuddling.

 **Bronn (12:53):** Sure you’re not together? Sounds like a relationship to me.

 **Sansa Stark (12:54):** I mean, last time I checked we weren’t. Haha. But no – we’re not together. He’s my best friend. He’s helped me out a lot since we met and he’s been even more supportive since the whole Sandor thing. It’s just nice to sleep with someone sometimes (just sleeping).

 **Bronn (12:58):** I’m glad you have someone, Sansa.

 **Sansa Stark (12:59):** Thanks Bronn :)

Suddenly, her bedroom slammed open. “Red!” Tormund boomed; a large smile slapped on his face. He darted from the doorway and jumped onto her bed, laying down next to her. “Thank fuck you’re awake. I’ve been going crazy without you.”

Sansa dropped her phone and cradled her head, hissing loudly at the pain. “You’re already crazy. Now, shut up!”

“Crazier without you,” he winked. “How’s the hangover? I missed you.”

“Bad.” Sansa sighed and rested her head against his strong shoulder, wrapping her arm around his chest. “I missed you too.”

He hugged her back instantly and kissed the top of her head. Words were formed on the tip of his tongue before he felt Sansa’s phone vibrate against the bed. “What was that?” He asked curiously.

“Bronn’s been texting me.” Sansa lifted her phone and held it above Tormund’s chest, allowing both set of eyes to watch the phone.

 **Bronn (1:07):** I admit I am jealous of the ginger. Always wanted to know what it’s like to share your bed ;)

Sansa’s cheeks reddened at the text; Tormund chocked on his own oxygen. “Texting or sexting?” He spluttered loudly.

“Texting!” She exclaimed, ignoring the drumming in her head. “Look,” Sansa shoved the phone into Tormund’s hands. “How the hell did it change into that? I didn’t flirt at all.”

Tormund took the phone from her and read the texts. She was right, she hadn’t flirted. “He thought Arya and I were fucking?” He grimaced. “I don’t know, Red. Maybe he likes you?”

It was Sansa’s turn to grimace. “No, he doesn’t. I dated his best friend.”

“So?” Tormund cocked his eyebrow up at her. “Doesn’t stop feelings if they’re already bloomed. Do you want to flirt back? I know loads of lines.” He winked. Sansa scoffed at him, before he started typing a message back to the man.

“Tormund!” Sansa cried once she realised what he was doing. Reaching out for her phone weakly from the man, he jumped up off the bed. “What are you doing?” Sansa could feel her heart slamming against her chest. She was too hungover to grab the phone from him; she could feel the alcohol starting to turn in her stomach.

The ginger man laughed, stepping away from the bed. “You want him in your bed or not?”

“No!” Sansa’s head stung.

“Wait,” he froze. “Seriously?”

“Yes, I’m serious!” Sansa threw her hands against her mattress to hold herself up.

Tormund gulped audibly and stared at his best friend, “shit.” He smiled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

Sansa’s eyes narrowed, “what did you do?” Her best friend remained silent and gulped once more before his eyes flicked down to phone in his hand and to the girl in the bed. “Tormund, what did you send?”

Her phone dinged in his hand. His eyes widened as he stared at the message and Sansa took the opportunity to dart up and grab the phone from his hand, though the pain in her head and stomach made her regret the action instantly. “Hey!” He shouted as the phone was ripped from him.

 **Sansa Stark (1:14):** Come over and I’ll cook you breakfast in the morning ;)

 **Bronn (1:15):** Flirty. Eggs and bacon?

“Tormund!” Sansa cried as she stared at the messages. “Are you out of your mind?” She laid back down and pulled the covers up to hide her from the outside world. Sansa groaned louder each time she read the messages.

 **Sansa Stark (1:18):** Oh, my Gods. I am sorry.

 **Sansa Stark (1:18):** I am SO sorry

 **Sansa Stark (1:18):** That was Tormund. We were in bed and he saw your message. He thought it would be FUNNY to reply like that.

 **Sansa Stark (1:19):** I am mortified

“What did you say back?” Tormund’s voice was muffled as she hid under her blanket.

“Go away!” She groaned. Her groan turned into a quick squeal as the blankets were thrown from her and Tormund landed next to her, pulling the blanket back over them, hiding them both from the world.

“Hello,” he grinned, though the darkness hid most of the grin from view.

Sansa rolled her eyes, “still not happy with you. And you’ve made me feel sicker.”

Tormund sighed, “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent it.”

Sansa turned on her side to face the hidden man, “why did you?” Her voice fell from her throat soft and quiet.

The ginger man remained silent for a moment. He prayed Sansa couldn’t hear the thrumming of his heartbeat as it echoed loudly through him. “I just want you to be happy. And if being with him or even sleeping with him makes you happy, I want to help you do that.”

She smiled, “thank you. But maybe not with my ex’s best friend.”

They both laughed. Light and a vibration interrupted their comfortable bubble as Bronn texted her back. As the light illuminated their dark fort, Sansa realised how close they actually were. Tormund’s face sat mere inches away from her own. Her heart raced in her chest and she furrowed her eyebrows at the notion, _it’s just Tormund. Chill out_. She pulled her phone up and they both once again looked at the message.

 **Bronn (1:24):** Hahaha. Maybe he was jealous I wanted to share the bed with you.

Sansa scoffed at the response and rolled her eyes, her fingers danced across the keyboard as she failed to notice the man holding his breath beside her. “He’s such an idiot,” she mumbled.

 **Sansa Stark (1:25):** Right, definitely. I think he just wants me to move on.

“Good save,” Tormund muttered from next to her.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Sansa peered up to his eyes. His eyes shone brightly from the light of the phone. He nodded and smiled at her; her own lips couldn’t resist to smile back.

 **Bronn (12:26):** From what?

 **Sansa Stark (1:26):** Sandor. It’s been 6 months, and everyone knows I’m still hung up on him. Finally started to move on, suggested a night out. Got absolutely wasted (I still can’t remember most of the night BTW) and he bloody shows up. No wonder I struggle moving on.

Silence filled their small, dark fort as both of them concentrated on the phone. They re-read Sansa’s message and watched as the small typing bubbles popped up on the screen.

 **Bronn (12:29):** Ah, shit. He feels super bad about that, you know. We had no clue you would be there until you stood up on the table and started talking to everyone in the bar (nice dress BTW). He wanted to leave as soon as he saw you, knew you wouldn’t want to see him. I tried to pull him out, but he was just frozen, couldn’t stop staring at you. Wasn’t until he realised WHY you were taking the shots that he began to move but stopped when you saw him. He feels really bad, Sansa. I know what he did was fucked up and stupid, unfair and a major dick move but he regrets it.

Sansa could feel a lump form in her throat.

 **Sansa Stark (1:30):** See? Every time I’m moving on, something tries to stop me.

 **Bronn (1:30):** I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted you to know that he never wanted to hurt you.

 **Sansa Stark (1:32):** I know you didn’t, it’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter if he wanted to or not, the point is that he did hurt me. He broke up with me through you – he didn’t bother to tell me himself. He didn’t even give me the chance to fight for us, HE didn’t fight for us. He left me like I was nothing and he must be the stupidest person on the planet to think that wouldn’t have hurt me. But it doesn’t matter anymore, I’m moving on. Sandor made his choice and I’m making mine.

 **Bronn (1:33):** Is that what you want?

 **Sansa Stark (1:35):** I’ve never wanted to. But it’s something I have to do, for my own sake.

 **Bronn (1:35):** He still loves you.

 **Sansa Stark (1:37):** I’ll always love him. I just don’t think he loves or loved me enough to make it right between us. He must have had some feelings for me to be with me for that long, but I don’t think he ever loved me, not in the way that you think. Especially after last night (I remember that bit)

 **Sansa Stark (1:38):** Besides – hypothetically, if we were to ever get back together, I want to move back to the North someday. I know he wouldn’t want to do that. His home is here, whereas it isn’t mine. Once I’m able to leave my job, we’re planning to go back home. I have to plan for my future now and I know Sandor wouldn’t be able to commit himself truly to come with me.

 **Bronn (1:38):** WAIT

 **Bronn (1:38):** You’re leaving? Why?

 **Sansa Stark (1:40):** I like my job, but I prefer the North’s fashion. I can’t make my own clothes here. I give them ideas and advice. I work from home to sketch ideas and then they take the glory from themselves. I want to be more involved and I know I’d be able to do that back home. When I was with Sandor, I spent a lot of time with the both of you, so I knew I wasn’t alone. And I had Tor and Arya. But being here in the South still makes me feel so lonely, even with people around me. And after everything with Sandor, I can’t go anywhere without feeling somewhat alone. I just think it’s time for me to go home :)

 **Bronn (1:43):** I’ll miss you, Miss Stark.

 **Sansa Stark (1:44):** I’ll miss you too, Bronn. We’ll have to go for coffee soon. I know I won’t be leaving for a while yet, but it’ll still be nice to see you. Besides, once we’ve gone, you’ll still have one Stark running around.

 **Bronn (1:44):** Definitely meet up for coffee. Arya’s staying?

 **Sansa Stark (1:45):** Good. Yeah, has some “unfinished business” here apparently. Though, I think she just wants to stay for a guy she’s been seeing.

 **Bronn (1:46):** ARYA HAS A BOYFRIEND?

 **Sansa Stark (1:47):** She says he hasn’t, but it’s pretty obvious.

 **Bronn (1:47):** Wow. I’ve missed so much.

 **Sansa Stark (1:48):** Should’ve texted me sooner ;)

 **Bronn (1:49):** You have no idea how true that is. Anyway, you said “once we’ve gone.” Who’s we?

 **Sansa Stark (1:50):** Me and Tormund.

 **Sansa Stark (1:50):** WE’RE GETTING A BIG HOUSE WITH 3 BEDROOMS. NOT TOO FAR FROM THE REST OF THE STARKS BUT FAR ENOUGH TO NOT BE BOMBARDED WITH A HERD OF STARKS EVERY MORNING WHEN THEY WANNA PET OUR DOG AND CHILDREN.

“Tor!” Sansa snatched the phone out of the laughing man’s hand. She read the message and her own laughter flew from her throat. “You’re such an idiot,” she smiled.

 **Sansa Stark (1:51):** Sorry. Tor took my phone again.

“I may be an idiot, but you’re even more of an idiot for putting up with me.” Tormund pinched Sansa’s nose. She batted his hand away with more laughter and tried to bat it away once more as he lowered his hand to her stomach and began tickling her. “See! Only an idiot would be friends with me.”

“Stop!” Her laughter echoed through the room as she tried to push his hands away. She twisted her body and legs, throwing the blanket away from them and onto the floor, her phone fell alongside it with a _thump._

Tormund watched the squirming woman beneath him; he watched as she scrunched her nose up in laughter, her eyes squeezed shut and her laughter graced his ears. Finally, he gave up and removed his hands. Kneeling beside her, Tormund smiled as Sansa moved to sit up against the headboard with a huff, moving hair out of her face. “Don’t call me an idiot,” he spoke quickly as she opened her mouth to talk. Throwing a wink at her, she rolled her eyes.

“Idiot,” she huffed under her breath with a smile.

“Let’s get some food. Your hangover seems to have gone.” He got off the bed and stood over her, his eyes bright and blue.

Sansa stared at him for a moment. _Why is my heart beating so quickly? It must be because he just finished tickling me. Right?_ She cocked her eyebrow at him as she stared longer. She could feel her pulse in her fingers, in her throat, her lips, everywhere. A fluttering sensation entered her stomach, knocking into her lungs, leaving her breathless.

“What?” Tormund asked eventually. He narrowed his eyes at the wide-eyed woman on the bed. “You alright, Red?”

“Hm?” Sansa’s eyes fell to his. They were a lovely blue. They reminded her of the icy sea and lakes from back home. His eyes _were_ home. Panic quickly swallowed the fluttering in her stomach. _Oh Gods, why is this happening? Not now._

“Red?”

She quickly tore her eyes away from his and shook her head, “I’m fine. Sorry.”

With his own cocked eyebrow, he watched as Sansa stumbled out of bed. She ignored his eyes as she picked up her phone and throwing her blanket back onto her bed. He kept his eyes trained on her as she breathed a lot quicker than she had moments ago. “You sure?”

“Yep,” she smiled up at him briefly, “all good. I’ll just shower quickly and then food.”

He nodded slowly and narrowed his eyes once more. He backed out of the room as he continued to stare at her, “not finished here, Red.”

Sansa laughed at her friend, “shut up.”

With a wink, he left the room. Leaving Sansa alone with a frantic heartbeat and a sudden loss the ground under her. With shaky knees, Sansa fell to sit back on her bed and dabbed the sweat on the back of her neck. She had _never_ felt this way around Tormund before – _maybe I’m coming down with something_. With the back of her hand, she touched her forehead. She was hot. _Definitely coming down with something then. Nothing to do with Tormund._ And yet, no matter how many times those words entered her mind as she sat there, she couldn’t believe them anymore than she did at the start. Sighing deeply, she looked at her phone.

 **Bronn (1:52):** Make sure you name your dog Lady.

Sansa frowned at her phone.

 **Sansa Stark (2:04):** I don’t remember telling you about that. How’d you know?

She stared at her phone for a couple of minutes, she watched as the typing bubbles appeared and disappeared. Her heart rate picked up once more, the sweat on her brow returned.

 **Sansa Stark (2:07):** Bronn, how do you feel about meeting up today?

The bubbles appeared and disappeared once more. _Shit._ She waited a few more minutes until she was certain no message would come. _Cunt._

* * *

Several weeks had passed, 7 to be exact, since the incident at the bar. The memories of exactly what had happened that night had smacked back into Sansa a few mornings after. She didn’t know what to think anymore. In a sober mind, Sansa knew Sandor was lying. Of course, he had loved her, she knew that. She knew they had been in love all of those months ago. There was no denying that and whatever Sandor wanted to avoid talking about or avoid admitting, he couldn’t take that away from her – or them. The pain in her chest had almost completely disappeared as she thought of him. Sansa knew she would always love him, but she no longer felt the need to act on it. She wasn’t in love with him anymore.

She hadn’t received any texts from _Bronn_ either, from any of the two numbers she had saved under his name. Sansa had yet to delete the text thread from nearly 2 months ago. She wouldn’t delete them until she knew the truth and even then, she wasn’t entirely sure if she would. Sansa knew Bronn didn’t know of Lady. She had told Sandor the story about her childhood dog only a couple of nights before he left, and he hadn’t had the chance to talk to Bronn until the morning he left and she knew that wouldn’t have been a priority for Sandor to talk to Bronn about. It was him. Sansa knew it was but had no further proof. The woman didn’t want to text any of the numbers first either, she knew it would cause trouble – and honestly, Sansa didn’t care much anymore. About any of it.

With that load off her shoulders, however, they still remained heavy. She knew she must’ve been coming down with something. Her hands and brow had begun to sweat sometimes, her breath got stuck in her throat, her heart beat viciously in her chest – there were plenty of symptoms, yet Sansa couldn’t work out what was wrong with her. The only thing she did know, was that she must’ve caught it off Tormund. The symptoms only ever picked up when he was around.

Sitting across from Tormund at the table on a Sunday afternoon, Sansa picked at her bacon sandwich in thought. “What do you want to today?”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” Tormund leaned back in his seat to watch her. “Do you?”

Sansa’s mind raced at 100mph. Every thought bumped across her brain, knocking a growing headache in place. “Is it alright if we go to your shop?”

“Why?”

“I really want one of your hot chocolates,” she sighed sadly as she could feel her heart pick up at the sight of him, she tore her eyes away and locked down to her half-eaten sandwich.

“Finish that and we’ll go.” Sansa’s head shot up towards him, she nodded and threw the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, finishing it in a few quick bites. “Wow,” he laughed.

Wiping her mouth with her napkin, Sansa chuckled. “You have no idea how much I want a hot chocolate.”

Tormund laughed once more, “I can tell.”

“Is it alright if I bring some work with me? I have a deadline.” Sansa’s eyes widened sadly, and she pouted her lips slightly. Tormund _hated_ that face. The face she pulled when she wanted something, the face she needn’t pull as he would do anything for her anyway. He hated how the sad eyes clenched around his heart and took over his body, nodding when he didn’t realise. “Thank you! Love you.” She jumped up and ran back to her bedroom to get ready.

With a small scoff, he leaned back into his chair once more. He pulled the neckline of his black t-shirt away from the bottom of his neck. Tormund hated how his heartrate sped up at the words, the words he knew she only meant as friends. He hated how guilty he felt whenever he said the words back but meant them in a completely different way to how she thought. Tormund hated being in love with his best friend. Once he heard Sansa’s bedroom door open, he sighed and stood up, letting the top of his t-shirt fall back to where it sat originally. With a smile, he watched as Sansa walked back into the kitchen. She was wearing skinny black jeans, a tight plain white crop top and her white converse trainers. She had her black tote bag swinging over her shoulder and her sunglasses pushed into the top of her hair. Tormund wanted to hate how perfect she looked, he wanted to hate how badly the words sat on top of his tongue, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t hate any of it. “Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.”

They both walked to the front door and plucked their own sets of keys from their own assigned hook and they ignored Arya’s empty hook, they both knew where she was anyway. With a smile, Tormund opened the door and walked out behind Sansa, locking the door behind him.

The walk to the café would only take them 15 minutes, but Sansa was too busy showing Tormund the sketches in her book to concentrate on walking at a normal pace. Their legs slowed incredibly as they spoke and looked at the designs. “What do you think about this one?” She skimmed through the pages until she landed on a dress. “It’s a wedding dress. It’s the first wedding dress we’ve designed so it has to be _perfect_.”

Sansa pushed her fallen hair away from the page and Tormund eyed the dress. His eyes welcomed the sketch of the dress; the sleeves were elegantly laced; it had a v-neckline and a white silk waistline. Small white flowers graced the skirt of the dress and the long train. He tried to imagine the dress in his mind, though the image of Sansa wearing the dress threw him off every time. He could feel the back of his neck burning. “It’s nice, Red. Really nice.”

“You think so?” Sansa beamed up at him.

Tormund’s eyes bore into her. Her smile. _Gods, her smile_. His mind’s eye welcomed the image of Sansa staring up at him with that smile and her sapphire eyes, as she wore the dress standing opposite him in front of a Godswood tree.

“Shit,” Sansa uttered loudly. Tearing his attention back to the real world, Tormund looked at Sansa as she bent down to pick up her fallen books.

Chuckling slightly, Tormund knelt down beside her and helped. His eyes fell onto the sketch of the dress once more. He shook the image out of his mind and picked up the remaining books. “Yeah, Red.” He continued their conversation, “I really think it’s nice. It’s more than nice.”

Sansa stood up and took the books off him, “thanks, Tor.” She put the books into her bag and smiled. Turning around from him, she took a step and smacked into something hard. _Oh no_. Sansa recognised the hardness; she recognised the smell. She recognised the muscles underneath her hands. “Shit,” she mumbled under her breath. Sansa took a step back and looked up from the black t-shirt covered chest. “Hello,” she sighed as her eyes met Sandor’s.

“Hi,” the words dripped from his throat softly. His grey eyes bore into her own before scanning her whole body and then landing on Tormund.

“How’s the nose?” Tormund asked with a small smirk.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Sansa tore her eyes away from Sandor and landed on Tormund. “What?”

“Hm?” Tormund asked absentmindedly, slowly peeling his eyes away from Sandor to Sansa. His stomach flipped as he eyed the red-haired woman. “Wait what?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“What did you do?” She growled as she remembered the bruised knuckles he sported for days after the bar incident. She spun her head around to face Sandor once again, “he punched you?” However, before any words could fall from his mouth, she turned back to Tormund with dark eyes. “You punched him when we are the bar.”

“Ah,” Tormund gulped, “yes.”

She smacked the back of his head _numerous_ times. “Are you crazy? What the _hells_ is wrong with you?”

“Knock it off, Red. It was weeks ago!” Tormund tried to batt her hand away.

With a final and harder smack, she pulled her hand away. Her eyes glared into his, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Tormund stared at her before looking at the two very amused men behind Sansa. He looked back at Sansa pointedly, “this,” he pointed at her with his finger and then back at his head, “is why I didn’t tell you! Girl you can get _crazy_.” He winked at her.

“Oh, I am going to _kill_ you,” she growled. She took a step towards him and Tormund took one away. “Come here.”

“No,” Tormund took another step back.

“Tormund Giantsbane. Come here.” Her voice grew quiet, almost a whisper.

A nervous laugh fell from his throat, “no.” He quickly spun around her and stood behind Bronn and Sandor. “Red, you’re really scary when you’re angry. Scarier than your pretty cousin Jon.”

Sansa’s eyes ignored the smiling Bronn and Sandor. They concentrated on the man who stood behind them. Taller than Bronn but not as tall as Sandor. She clenched her jaw. “I wouldn’t be angry if you didn’t go around punching people. Especially when they’re exes. Are you seriously surprised?”

“Come on, lads. Help me out.” Tormund whispered to the men. With nothing but small chuckles in reply, he sighed. “Sansa. Let’s talk, ay? I’ll make you a hot chocolate at the café and we can talk more about that dress I like.”

They all watched as her eyes softened slightly at the mention of hot chocolate. A small smirk replaced the scowl. “Alright.”

A breath of relief escaped Tormund before his eyes fell back onto the smirk. “What? What is it? What do I have to do?” Tormund ignored the chuckles from the other men. He moved away from the men and stood in front of Sansa once more, a smile graced his lips. “What will my Lady have me do?

“Don’t make me smack you again,” she smiled. “You have to make drinks for Bronn and Sandor at your café. For free. Today.”

Tormund stared into Sansa’s eyes, he scanned them. Slowly, he dipped down and whispered in her ear, “are you sure you can handle him being there?"

His breath and words tingled against her ear neck. She felt the fluttering once again and the sweat swallowing her palms. Sansa watched as Tormund stood back up straight, she looked over his shoulder at Sandor. He was staring at her with a cocked eyebrow, almost challenging her. “Yeah. It’ll be fine,” she muttered to Tormund. “Only if you’re both free.” She looked between Bronn and Sandor.

Bronn smiled first, “anything for you, love.” He strolled over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He cocked his eyebrows up at her, “lead the way.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Is there anyone you haven’t tried to sleep with?” They began to walk once more, though she kept the arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah. Those two,” he pointed back at the scowling men behind them.

Sansa laughed loudly. She watched him for a moment with a smile until an idea formed in her head. She finally had to chance to get the proof she needed – to prove Sandor had been texting her and not Bronn. “So, Bronn. Do you like eggs and bacon?”

“I guess. Why?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

Sansa peered over her shoulder at Sandor and watched as he gulped. Her eyes then found Tormund who scowled harder. “No reason,” she turned back to Bronn, “just testing a theory.”

Tormund quickly stood beside her, “sorry, Bronn. I have to take her for a moment.”

Without a word from Bronn, he softly grabbed Sansa’s waist and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder as she gasped loudly. “Tor, seriously?” She whined. She felt him chuckle under her and she rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Bronn. He’s like a territorial caveman.” Sansa pulled softly on his ginger hair, as she looked at Sandor and Bronn. Their eyes were wide with surprise. “He does it a lot.” Her bag dangled from her shoulder and she sighed, she handed the bag to Tormund, who took it without any words.

“Red, you have long legs. Use them to walk quicker and I won’t have to.”

“You know, Tor, the more you do it, the less embarrassing it becomes. No one even notices anymore.” She sighed, leaning on her wrist to prop her head up. She scanned the streets and smiled at Bronn and Sandor, who still continued to stare at her. “I’m sorry that he punched you, Sandor.”

Sandor cleared his throat and nodded, “it’s alright, Little Bird. I did deserve it.”

Tormund reached over and tapped Sansa’s back with his free hand, “see!”

“Doesn’t mean it should have happened,” Sansa replied, ignoring Tormund’s comment completely.

Sansa and Sandor stared at each other for a long moment. “Are you not mad? About the texts?” He asked eventually.

Her eyes fell from his to the floor, “I was a little at the start. But I know it came from a good place.” She looked back up at him and she smiled. He smiled slightly back at her. Sansa felt Tormund tense from beneath her, “Tor, can I get down now? Your shoulder is digging into me.”

“I thought you liked my shoulders,” he pouted as he put her down, still holding her bag.

She rolled her eyes, “you have very nice shoulders, Tormund.” He winked at her and she felt a tug in her chest. Quickly, she tore her eyes away from his and cleared her throat. Sansa could feel the sweat upon her brown once more, she could feel how quickly her heartbeat raced, she could feel the fluttering in her stomach. _No. Not now._

Once they reached the café, Sansa eyes were still focused on the floor. She racked through her mind to find reasons, excuses, anything to explain why she felt the way she did with Tormund. She even tried to blame how close Sandor had been to her.

“Red?” Tormund asked. The 3 men looked at each other before looking back at Sansa as she stood in front of the shop unmoving. Tormund slowly moved in front of her and poked her nose, “Sansa? If you’re having a heart attack, you have to let me know. If you die in front of my café, it’ll be bad for business.”

Slowly, her eyes cleared, and she stared up at her friend. “Tor, it’s a Sunday. No one’s here.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

Sansa gulped as she looked into the worried, blue eyes. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“You’re sick?” He asked with a frown.

“I think so,” she muttered. “Look,” she took Tormund’s hand and put it against her forehead.

He stood up straight and felt her forehead with the back of his hand, “hm. You are quite hot.”

“See!” Sansa gulped. She looked away from his arm and to his face. A smirk plastered his face, “oh.” _You are quite hot_. “Shut up, Tor. I’m being serious.”

“So am I. But yeah, you might be sick. You do seem to have a bit of a temperature. We’ll use a thermometer when we’re home.”

“Thanks.” She felt the loss immediately as he removed his hand from her head. She cleared her throat as she watched Tormund unlock the door and push it open, the 3 men all turned to face her and waited until she walked through first. _Gods. What are they all doing to me?_ She ignored her echoing heartbeat.

She led them all to her favourite table, she sat down and watched as Bronn sat opposite her and Tormund next to her, leaving Sandor to sit opposite Tormund, who dropped her bag by her feet under the table. Her eyes flicked up to Sandor’s and watched as he scanned the table sadly. _Oh no._ This was the table. _Their_ table.

“You alright, love?” Bronn asked.

Sansa caught eyes with the scarred man quickly as she turned back to Bronn, “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Right,” Tormund stole all of their attention. “What does everyone want to drink? On the house apparently.”

Bronn ordered an Irish Coffee and Sandor ordered a black coffee. Tormund nodded and stood, until Bronn asked, “don’t you want anything, love?”

“She doesn’t need to order,” Sandor and Tormund answered in unison.

Sansa and Bronn looked at both of the men. Sansa’s cheeks pinkened and Bronn cocked his eyebrow. “Ah,” Bronn smirked.

Tormund cleared his throat and left the table to make the drinks, leaving Sansa alone with a smirking Bronn and a frowning Sandor. As she looked at Sandor, Sansa couldn’t work out how she felt. She could feel the anger, sadness and fear bubbling inside her. But the feelings of gratitude and happiness took over. She _hated_ him for what he had done to her, but even from where she sat, she could see the sadness and guilt splattered across his face. She read it in the texts, and she could see it now. He regretted everything he did. She couldn’t blame him for that. “So,” she cleared her throat, “Sandor, how have you been?”

She needed this conversation. She needed to know if he had been as miserable without her as she was. Sansa needed a mature, sober conversation with the man who broke her heart.

He stared at her in shock before recovering and sitting back in his seat, “awful.”

“Really?” She asked, cringing at the tone of her voice. “Sorry.”

Bronn chuckled and Sandor smiled sadly, “it’s alright. It’s the truth though, Little Bird. I have been awful without you. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Why did you leave?” She asked quietly, looking down to her hands. Suddenly, under the table, she felt Bronn’s legs wrapping around of hers. She looked up to him and he smiled supportively. With her own small smile, she squeezed her legs against his.

“I was scared.”

Sansa looked to Sandor; his eyes latched on hers. “Of what?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you. I was always busy with work; I couldn’t see you as much as we both wanted to. When I told you I loved you, it became so real. I knew I would fuck it up eventually and I didn’t want to wait around and watch you fall out of love with me. I had to leave before that happened.”

The heat had returned and swallowed her whole, taking the oxygen with it. She stared at the scarred man, she scanned his face, looking for the lie. Looking for anything to tell her he wasn’t telling the truth. “That never would’ve happened.”

“We don’t know that,” he muttered.

Tensing her jaw, Sansa tore her eyes away from him. She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath, she could feel the tears prickling the back of her eyelids. Even the tight squeezes around her legs couldn’t push the pain away. He was telling the truth, she knew that. But that hurt her more. Sansa had always made excuses up for him and why he had left. But hearing it from him, hearing how little trust he had in them and her, it ripped the stitches holding her heart together apart. She brought her hands up and rubbed her face harshly.

“Breathe, love.” Bronn’s soft voice graced her ears.

She tried to listen, to let the oxygen back into her lungs but she failed. She stopped rubbing her face and cupped it instead. She ignored Bronn’s soothing words, she ignored Sandor asking if she was alright, she ignored the sound of mugs being plonked on the table. A sudden smell entered her bubble. A smell of the North mixed with coffee. _Home._ Slowly, she peeled her hands from her face and eyes, her head turned to right and she watched as Tormund smiled from beside her. He had his arm thrown over the back of her chair, his fingers close but failing to touch her. “Hand?” He asked. Slowly and silently, she looked down in front of her and noticed Tormund’s outstretched hand on to the table. He surrounded her; his smell, his body. “Do you need my hand, Red?” He asked softly.

Sansa knew what he was asking. _Do you want the words? Do you want to take my hand and hear the words?_ She looked back up to him and the oxygen returned to her lungs. Sansa kept her eyes on him and slowly her body and mind returned back to normal. She tilted her head to get a better look at him. _Has he always been this handsome? When did he start to care about me this much?_

“Sansa?” Tormund asked.

“I’m alright,” she whispered, sitting up straight.

He nodded at her, before he turned slightly to face Bronn and Sandor. “What happened?”

“Tor,” Sansa began softly, interrupting anything anyone could’ve said. She put her shaking over his, “it’s alright.”

He gripped her hand tightly and moved his arm from behind her, he pushed her mug of hot chocolate towards her, “drink up. I got you extra chocolate.”

“Thanks,” her nose scrunched up happily. “I’m sorry if I freaked you both out.” Sansa looked between Bronn and Sandor, who eyed her worriedly.

“No need to apologise, love,” Bronn squeezed her legs again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Sansa,” Sandor spoke. Sansa looked up at him briefly and furrowed her eyebrows, her name sounded weird coming from his mouth. She couldn’t remember the last time he had called her by her actual name. It had always been _Little Bird._

“Right,” she coughed. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from Tormund’s grip and dug into her bag, pulling out her small sketch book. “Talk amongst yourselves, I have some work to do.”

Sansa heard yet chose to ignore the round of chuckles. She tried to ignore how Tormund moved his arm back around the back of her chair; she tried to ignore how his hand twirled a piece of hair against her back. She tried to ignore how Bronn kept his legs looped around hers. She tried to ignore their voices as they spoke to each other whilst she drew.

She used the spoon to scoop the cream and chocolate as she worked. On her 3rd scoop, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She looked up and noticed Sandor staring at her. With the spoon still in her mouth, she smiled slightly. A sudden blush attacked his cheeks when he noticed her catching him staring at her. He averted his eyes but the hairs on the back of her neck didn’t fall. Something was wrong. She looked around the empty café, but nothing was out of the ordinary. Someone was watching her, she knew it. “Tormund. Did you look the door?”

“What?” Tormund asked, stopping his conversation with Bronn.

She looked towards the door and her stomach flipped as she watched the golden-haired boy walk into the café, the bell dinging behind him. “Hello,” he smirked. “Can I get a coffee please?”

“We’re actually closed. Sorry,” Tormund spoke.

The boy nodded slowly. “Right. So, what are you doing here Sansa?” His eyes fell to Sansa.

The rest of their table looked back at Sansa. Her mouth was dry, too dry for any words to leave her mouth. “Red, who is it?” Tormund whispered.

“Sansa,” the boy spoke once more, “can you come here a moment?” Call it memory muscle, or whatever the hell it was, but Sansa obeyed him. She stood with shaking legs and wide eyes. _What are you doing? Sit back down!_ She ignored her own thoughts; she ignored the men asking what she was doing. She dropped the book from her hands on the table and walked around the table. “Hello, my love.” He walked towards her and took a piece of her red hair in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice shook. Sansa stared at his face; he hadn’t changed at all. Though they finally shared height, him only an inch taller than her. His green, evil eyes stared back at her. His lips shed the smile and grinned darkly at her.

“I missed you, Sansa. I didn’t think I’d see you again. It’s funny, actually. I was talking to a friend about you only yesterday, and call it fate that today I saw you again.” He twirled the hair around his finger tightly.

“Sansa, care to introduce us?” Tormund asked suddenly from beside her.

The boy’s eyes scanned Tormund and he scoffed, “this is who you left me for? You left me for a ginger giant.” His fingers gripped her hair tighter. “I thought you knew better, Sansa.”

“Alright, lad. I think it’s time for you to go,” Tormund spoke.

“Hm, I suppose your right. You coming, Sansa?”

Before she could reply, a sudden gasp fell from her lips as he pulled her hair harshly. “Joffrey, stop!”

“What?” Three voices boomed from behind her.

“Ah!” Joffrey shouted, pulling Sansa’s hair harder, pulling her towards him. He grabbed a bigger clump of her red hair and held her shoulder against him with his other hand. She blinked through the pain and watched as Tormund, Sandor and Bronn all stood in front of them with dark eyes. “Sansa, I can’t believe you told your new boyfriends about me. I’m flattered.”

“Let her go, laddy. Come on now. You don’t want to do this,” Bronn urged angrily.

“He’s right, Joffrey. They could easily make you let me go. Just leave,” Sansa spoke quietly.

Joffrey dug his fingers harder into her shoulder, “how much did you tell them about me?” His voice turned dark.

“Please, Joff,” Sansa whispered, turning to look into his eyes.

“I spoke to Ramsay, you know. Remember him?” Joffrey eyed her carefully.

Sansa gasped at his name, she pulled against him. She cried at the pain in her shoulder and hair. “Stop. Please, don’t!” Sansa exclaimed, pulling away from him as much as she could. She pulled until a knife suddenly fell against her throat.

Her eyes widened at the sudden coolness of steel against her throat. With the hand Joffrey had held her shoulder with, holding the knife against her. Her eyes found Tormund’s and he gulped angrily. She could hear his growl from where she stood. “That’s enough.” Joffrey ordered her. “Now. Do you remember Ramsay?”

“Yes,” her voice cracked. She looked from the seething men back to Joffrey. “Don’t do this here.”

He pushed the knife tighter against her, “don’t tell me what to do.” He turned his face to look at the men, “you three go sit back down.” They didn’t move. “I’ll slit her throat open. Move.” Sansa watched as they looked at her sadly before nodding at the blonde boy, they moved to the closest table and sat down, not taking their eyes off Joffrey and Sansa. “Now,” he moved Sansa to stand in front him, holding her against his chest. He wrapped his arm across her throat and glided the knife down from the base of her throat to the top of her breasts. “Sansa, why don’t we show these dogs how we used to do it? Back when you were mine.” The knife glided further south down her body.

She let out a harsh breath as the knife glided past her naval. “Not in front of them, Joff. I thought you didn’t like sharing?”

The movements froze suddenly. The knife was mere centimetres away from entering the top of her trousers. “That’s true.” Sansa let out another sharp breath of relief as she watched the men’s chests all heave angrily. They were all trapped. “I won’t. Unless you answer my questions.”

Sansa resisted the urge to groan. She knew she couldn’t let Joffrey assault her, especially not in front of her ex, his friend and her best friend. She couldn’t let it happen. “Fine.”

“Good,” he pulled the knife up and lest it rest against her stomach. With the hand gripping a large clump of hair, he pulled them against a chair and sat down, her sitting in his lap. As soon as she sat, she felt his hard _member_ underneath her. Without thinking, she shot up and stood. Her hair was pulled loose from his hand and the knife sliced her stomach slightly. “Sansa!” He shouted, he stood and pulled her face towards his. “What did I say?” He spat into her face.

Panic surged through her. “Joff. Don’t. Not in front of them.”

The scowl Joffrey held was replaced by a laugh. “I’m not going to touch you, you dumb bitch. I just want to talk.”

“About what?” She urged. The panic had ceased somewhat, and she finally realised the damage of her standing up. The pain in her stomach burned, she knew it wasn’t a stab wound, but she had been cut. She could feel the blood trickling down.

“I have questions for you. Are you going to answer them or not?” The slightly bloodied knife flicked back down toward her intimate part. “I said I wasn’t going to touch you. But _this_ might.”

Sansa gulped and nodded. Joffrey smiled and pulled her around once more, forcing her to sit back down in his lap. Sansa watched Tormund, Sandor and Bronn stared at her bloodied top. _It’ll be alright. He’ll drop the knife and they’ll get me away from him._

“Question one. Who have you fucked out of those three?” He held the knife against her breasts once more. “Truthfully, Sansa. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“Sandor. The one in the middle.”

Joffrey cocked his eyebrow at the man. “Seriously? But he’s nothing like me?”

Sansa chuckled humourlessly, “I know. That’s the point, Joff.”

The three men grimaced once more, not at Joffrey but at her. Her damned reply. “Sansa,” Sandor warned quietly.

“Yes, Sansa. Listen to your dog.” Joffrey sneered.

Sansa rolled her eyes dramatically, luckily Joffrey couldn’t see her face. He would always leave a mark on her arms when she rolled her eyes. Sansa knew she needed to take the situation seriously. She _had_ been taking it seriously. But she was just so sick of it all. So sick of being scared and panicking. Sick of being hurt. The 3 pairs of eyes were silently pleading with her to take it seriously, too, but she just couldn’t. She rolled her eyes once more and ignored the pain in her stomach. “Next question?”

He pulled her hair once more. “Did you tell them about what we did together?”

“They knew what you were like.”

“So, tell them what we did together.” He laughed.

“No,” she whispered.

Joffrey shrugged, “alright. I will. Listen up, dogs,” he ignored Sansa’s quiet protests and held the knife tighter against her. He looked up to the men sitting opposite them and he smiled. “She would always go on, you know? Could never shut up. So, I would make her. Sometimes, I admit, I did go a little bit far. She wouldn’t wake up for hours – my mother thought I had killed her once, all the blood. It was just a miscarriage though. Your _precious_ Sansa was that useless, she couldn’t even keep a damned foetus safe. She begged me to stop, to stop hitting her, but she deserved it. She couldn’t do anything right. Always going on. I thought that if I stopped her from seeing her family and friends, it would stop. But it just made it worse. She would cry at night, so I had to stop that too. She stopped eventually though – talking, I mean. I called my friend, Ramsay. Told him about our little problem. Left them in a room alone for an hour and she came out a completely different person. We fixed her. So, you’re welcome. She’s still as worthless as ever, but a little less than before.”

Sansa’s eyes fluttered between open and closed as he spoke. Memories were splitting her in half. Her chest heaved violently. She could feel bile turning in her stomach. She couldn’t focus on the three pairs of eyes staring at her. And truthfully, she was glad for it. She didn’t want to see them with pity staring back at her. She tried to focus on something, anything, but nothing was working. Her hands shook in her lap. She needed a hand to hold, she needed _his_ hand.

“Do you remember, Sansa?” Joffrey asked.

Sansa’s eyes flew open at the sound of her name. She looked down to the knife held against her breasts and suddenly wished for nothing more than for it to puncture her. “Yes.”

“Ramsay had a lot to say about you yesterday.”

“Did he?” She sighed.

“Yeah. He said he left you with a scar. I couldn’t remember seeing it, but then you left me a little bit after that. I don’t think I had the chance to see you, _all_ of you, afterwards. You never were one for staying put.” He smirked.

Sansa knew where it was going. She knew what would happen next. “He did.”

“Hm. I would love to see it. I’m sure the dogs would too. What do you say, Sansa?”

She closed her eyes tightly and ignored the quickly falling tears. She resisted the urge to sob. She needed his hand. She needed to breathe. _You’re everything to me. You’re worth it._ Sansa repeated his words in her mind. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked towards the ginger man. His eyes bore into hers. His soft, sea coloured eyes. The eyes that told her everything she needed to hear.

“Sansa?” Joffrey urged angrily, shaking her slightly. She tore her eyes away from her best friend and she nodded at Joffrey. “Good,” he smiled.

The knife fell from her and she stood up with shaking legs, she turned to face Joffrey and pulled up her top. Carved into her skin covering her right ribs, stood a long scar. Though at the bottom of the scar sat the initials R.B. Sansa shuddered as Joffrey’s fingers skimmed over the scars. Suddenly, he turned her around, plucked her top off and pushed her towards the other men. Sansa’s cheeks flushed immediately as the men saw her topless with a lacy white bra. Thankfully for her, the men’s cheeks also reddened as they took in her appearance. “Look, dogs. Look at this.” He pulled their attention towards the scar.

Sandor’s eyes fell to Sansa’s, guilt swallowed her stomach. He had seen it before, the first time they had sex. He had asked what had happened, but all she managed to tell him was a story of how she fell out of a tree when she was younger, the initials were shaky and blurred enough to mask what they truly were. She avoided his eye carefully and watched as Tormund bit his tongue, she could see how close he was getting to ripping that knife out of Joffrey’s hand and plunging it into his neck. Bronn, however, avoided her entirely. He wasn’t looking at the scar, he wasn’t looking at the wound on her stomach, he wasn’t look at her body, his eyes were focused on the ceiling above them.

“Oi!” Joffrey called to him. He kicked the table away from the men quickly.

Bronn looked down and cocked his eyebrow, “yes?”

“Look at it,” he urged, pushing Sansa closer towards Bronn.

“No thanks.” Bronn looked back up to the ceiling.

Joffrey froze for a moment before shouting, “look at her!” He suddenly pushed Sansa into Bronn’s lap, forcing her to straddle him. Bronn’s hands quickly gripped her waist and their eyes widened at each other, at their sudden closeness. The knife was back against her throat. “Now, isn’t that better?”

Bronn tensed his jaw and his nostrils flared. His eyes were locked onto Sansa’s. He watched the fear and embarrassment swirl through her blue eyes. Her beautiful eyes tainted by this _cunt_. “Alright, love?” He asked.

“Peachy,” she gulped against the knife.

“Sansa,” Joffrey’s voice sung. “You won’t let me touch you. But how about him?”

Bronn and Sansa’s eyes widened once more. Bronn watched as Sansa’s cheeks were stained the colour red. “What?” She squeaked.

“Kiss him.” He gripped the knife tighter.

“Why?” She asked.

Joffrey sighed, “are you seriously that stupid? Come on, Sansa. I thought we fixed you.” The knife tightened against her throat. She gasped as she felt a small puncture from the knife as blood trickled down her throat. “You love these two. But him, I’m not sure. I can’t figure it out. My mother taught me some tricks after you ran away, she taught me how to notice things. But him – I can’t figure out what he means to you.”

Bronn’s eyes were fixed on the trail of blood from her throat, his eyes suddenly flew up as the blood hit the top of her pale breast mostly covered by her bra. Their eyes met once more, and he sighed sadly. “He’s my friend.”

“Just a friend?” Joffrey pushed.

“Yes.”

“Ah! That’s not true,” Joffrey laughed. His bony fingers tightened around her shoulder, purple bruises almost popped up immediately on impact.

Bronn paled immediately and Sansa furrowed her eyebrows. “Yes, it is. He’s my friend.”

“Hm,” Joffrey eased the knife on her throat slightly, “but people don’t typically want to fuck their friends.”

“We have never,” Sansa gasped.

“I know. But you want to. You both want to.”

Sansa eyed Bronn, she felt his fingers tighten on her waist. “I think you’re wrong, Joffrey.”

The knife was pushed against her tightly once more, she fought the urge to cough or gulp. “I’m not wrong. You’ve at least thought about it.”

 _Ah._ “Okay.”

“So, you have?” Joffrey laughed.

“I’ve thought about it, yes,” Sansa answered. She noticed as Bronn’s breath hitched in his throat.

“And you?” Joffrey asked Bronn. “Truthfully now, or I’ll let her bleed all over you.”

Bronn tensed his jaw and nodded stiffly, “have since the moment we met.”

“Really?” Sansa asked quietly.

“I never hid it,” Bronn smirked somewhat.

Sansa stared at the man; her eyes wide. Sansa had always noticed Bronn’s jokes, even when her and Sandor were together, but she only thought they _were_ jokes. He never outright tried anything with her. Even when she was single, he never got in touch with her and asked her for anything. _Oh_ , she thought, _it was only sex. He wanted me for sex_. Sansa closed her eyes and sighed as Joffrey released some tension from the knife against her neck, allowing her room to breathe and gulp freely.

“You have two options. Admit truthfully how you feel or kiss her.”

Sansa tore her eyes open and watched Bronn once more. His eyes were plastered on the boy, his jaw tense. “That’s not a hard choice.”

“No, it is.” Joffrey laughed. “You don’t want to put her in the position to think about you more than a friend, you want it to be easy for her. But then you don’t want to kiss her. You’re one of those who won’t take what they want without permission.”

Bronn’s eyes fluttered back down to hers. “It’s alright,” Sansa whispered. “I don’t mind what you choose. I trust you.” She rubbed his forearms slowly. She watched as sadness scuffed his face, leaving him with wide eyes and a small frown.

“It’s not just sex for me, Sansa. I wanted to be with you. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. But you saw the big one first. I’ve always loved you, love. And I think I always will. But I know it’s not what you want. I’m not _who_ you want.” His voice, soft, dripped down and gripped her heart painfully.

She gripped his arms tightly and stared at him, her mouth opened slightly in shock. She knew Bronn could feel her pulse through her waist, she could feel it vibrating against his hands. She gulped loudly. “Bronn,” she spoke quietly with a smile. “Why did you never say anything? Even when Sandor and I broke up?”

“You deserve better than me.” Bronn shrugged.

Sansa sighed sadly before Joffrey yanked her off Bronn’s lap. Bronn tried to hold her until Joffrey held the knife against her throat once more, forcing Bronn to let her go. “Next one!” Joffrey sung. She pushed her on top of Sandor, forcing her to straddle him as she did to Bronn.

Sandor’s hands gripped her bare skin tightly, holding her close and tightly stuck to him. He was angry. So angry. Sansa could see it on his face. Every muscle was tense and dangerous. His eyes were dark, his scars twisted and scary. “Hey,” Sansa’s soft voice urged him to look at her. “It’s alright.”

His dark grey eyes softened a small amount as he looked at her face, “can’t remember the last time we were this close.”

Sansa smiled sadly, “neither can I.” They were lying and they both knew it.

“So,” Joffrey began. “Same as before, dog. Tell her how you feel or kiss her.”

“I love her.” Sandor didn’t take his eyes away from hers.

“And do you, Sansa?” Joffrey asked.

Sansa took a deep breath, “I do. I’ll always love him.”

“Lie.” Joffrey laughed.

She watched as Sandor’s face twitched sadly, “it’s not a lie,” Sansa hissed at Joffrey. “I do love you, Sandor. I always have and I always will. I love you. But I’m not in love with you anymore. You hurt me. You broke my heart. You left me for no reason, and I will never be able to get over that, I’m sorry. You said earlier that you were worried about me falling out of love with you, and that’s why you ran. But I never would have if you stayed. I had to move on to survive without you.” She turned slightly to face Joffrey with as much leeway as possible from the knife, “was that a lie?”

Joffrey rolled his eyes angrily and huffed, “no. That was boring.” She pulled Sansa away from Sandor quickly, not giving him enough time to grip onto her. He walked her over to Tormund. The ginger man’s eyes were trained on the knife against her throat. “Hm. This should be fun.” He pushed her to him, straddling her best friend.

Tormund’s hands wrapped around her, pulling her closer towards them than the other men did. He joined his hands behind her back. “Red,” he cocked an eyebrow at her with a smirk.

She smiled at her best friend. She had sat on his lap thousands of times but straddling him felt completely different. She gulped as she stared at him, forgetting momentarily of the knife, she forgot about Joffrey, she forgot about Sandor and Bronn. She only knew Tormund. A cough from behind her brought her back to reality, “I was going to give you the same option as the other two. But I think we all know you’d kiss her.”

Sansa noticed Tormund gripping her tighter. Trying to keep her as far away as possible from Joffrey. He wanted to protect her, and Sansa knew it. She could feel it. “What are our options then?” Tormund asked.

“Beat her or fuck her.”

“What?” Tormund’s loud voice echoed through the café.

Sansa’s whole body tensed. She looked to her right and watched Sandor and Bronn’s face redden in anger. They all wanted to kill Joffrey. Rip her out of his grip and beat the shit out of him.

Joffrey shrugged, “beat her. Slap her around, punch her. Whatever you want to do. Or you fuck her. Right here. Right now. In front of us all.”

“No,” Tormund held her tighter against him. “I will not hurt her.”

“Wow. You really think your cock is that big?” Joffrey laughed.

Tormund growled, “I will not _rape_ her.”

“It’s not rape if she wants you,” Joffrey rolled his eyes.

“Joffrey, that’s enough,” Sansa spoke loudly, venom dripping from her words

She quickly gripped the hand holding the knife and squeezed. Slowly, she crushed his and pushed off Tormund’s lap, standing up. She ignored Joffrey’s shouts and orders and crushed his hand harder, ignoring the searing pain of his hand crushing her shoulder. Quickly, Tormund stood and followed her; Sandor and Bronn jumped from their seat and ran behind them to grab Joffrey. Bronn grabbed his small throat in his hands and squeezed tightly. 

Joffrey panicked and dropped the knife from his hand, letting it fall to the floor. Sansa jumped out of his grip and fell into Tormund’s embrace. He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head, “are you alright? Red?” The lump in her throat ceased any words from leaving her mouth; the only thing she could do was hug the man tighter. “You’re alright now.” He grabbed Sansa’s top from the floor and helped her put it on.

A sudden groan from Joffrey snapped her out of it, she turned around in Tormund’s grip and watched as Bronn held his throat tightly against the crook of Bronn’s elbow, with Sandor holding his wrists very, _very_ tightly. “Careful,” Sansa uttered, “the cameras are on.”

Sandor and Bronn grunted in response.

“You bitch,” Joffrey spat at Sansa.

“Careful now,” Bronn held him tighter. “I wouldn’t upset the little lady.”

Sansa took a few steps away from Tormund and towards Joffrey. She looked him over and laughed quietly. “I don’t know how I ever thought I loved you. You’re nothing. I hope you rot in hell. Tor, ring the police.”

“Sansa! Tell your dogs to let go of me!”

“No.” Her voice echoed through the room; all eyes turned to her. “They are not _dogs_. You don’t get to talk anymore.” Before anymore venom could fall from his mouth, she swung her fist back and slammed it against his face. “Just fuck off, Joffrey.”

Bronn whistled proudly at her punch, “nice one, love.”

Joffrey spluttered and spat out blood from his mouth. “Joffrey, if one more word leaves your mouth about them, I swear to _all_ the Gods, I will fucking kill you myself.”

He stared up at the red-haired girl and scoffed. “The only thing you can kill are our children.”

Sandor gripped his wrists tighter and Bronn squeezed his throat harder. Sansa growled and took a step forward before Tormund held her against him, whispering things to try and calm her down. She couldn’t hear them. “I had two _miscarriages_ , Joffrey. I didn’t kill them. You’re the one who beat me. I didn’t know I was pregnant. _You_ killed them.”

“I did not!” He screamed.

“Yes, you did!” Sansa screamed louder than Joffrey. She fought against Tormund’s strong arms. She could barely make out him telling her to calm down, she could hear Sandor and Bronn even less. “You killed them, Joffrey! You beat them out of me. Two innocent babies. They were barely months old and you took them away from me. You were supposed to be a father to them.”

Joffrey scoffed, “they could’ve been anyone’s. I know you were cheating on me.”

Sansa froze. She stared at the restrained boy in front of her and she laughed. “I cheated on you?”

“Yes.” He hissed.

“ _You_ were _fucking_ my best friend!” Sansa’s voice ripped throat her throat.

Joffrey stilled for a moment. “You knew?”

“Of course, I knew. Marge was faking it the whole time, you idiot. She wanted me to know. You weren’t good in bed, Joff. She wasn’t screaming because of you fucking her.” Sansa scoffed.

His cheeks were stained red in seconds; Bronn cackled loudly, Sandor grunted in amusement and Tormund smirked. “That’s not true! You were never in the house when she was round!”

She stared at him for a moment in dumbfounded shock. “Joffrey. I wasn’t allowed to _leave_ the house.”

“Well, that doesn’t matter! You were still cheating on me!”

“With who?” She resisted the urge to pull her own hair out in frustration. She pulled against Tormund, trying yet failing to get closer to Joffrey. The blonde-haired boy thought for a moment, trying to think of something, a name, anything. “Exactly. You and I both know I never cheated on you.”

Joffrey reddened once more, he _hated_ being proven wrong. “Shut up, Sansa. You know I won’t go to jail for this. Mother won’t allow it.”

Sansa thought for a moment, she looked to the floor and tried to think. Ideas were spurring around in her mind. She finally looked up to Joffrey’s smirking face. She steeled her own face and stood up straight. “I suppose you’re right. Your mother wouldn’t let it happen. But what about Petyr?”

“What do you mean?” His face scrunched up in confusion. “What has Baelish got to do with it?”

Sansa tapped Tormund’s arm calmly. Slowly, he released her. She took a careful step forwards, “do you remember the night I left? There was a fire. It gave me enough of a distraction to get out.”

“Yes, I know. What about it?” He sneered.

“Petyr was the one who set it off.”

“Why would’ve he have done that? You’re lying.”

“I asked him to. He met me at the gates and took me to his car. We got in and he drove me home. We were on the road for a long time. You know what it’s like – being in a hot, stuffy car with an attractive person beside you.”

Joffrey stared at her; his eyes darkened. He snarled, “you didn’t.” He fought wildly against Sandor and Bronn, but they only tightened their hold on him.

“I did. _We_ did. He loved me and he still does. He has more money than your family; he has more power than all of you. Your mother wouldn’t be able to fight him off or hold him back. Nor would Tywin.” She held his gaze for a moment longer until she walked away to get her phone from her bag. “Actually, I’ll call him right now.” As she walked back over to them, she dialled his number and cleared her throat at Bronn, who quickly held his hand tightly over Joffrey’s mouth. She scanned the men for a moment, they all stared at her with wide eyes – wide with _shock._

“Sansa?” The voice from the phone echoed.

Sansa put the call on loudspeaker, “Petyr?” Her voice turned from cold to tearful and wet.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Petyr asked quickly. Sounds came from the other side, telling Sansa he had quickly stood up. “Sweetling?”

“Joffrey,” Sansa sobbed. “I was at the café with Tormund and some friends. He came in. He had a knife, Petyr.” Her voice cracked.

“What?” Petyr shouted. “Do you have any evidence?”

“Cameras and witnesses. Tormund’s rang the police.”

“Alright. Let me deal with it. Where is he now? Did he hurt you?” She could hear him shuffling in his desk for a pen and paper.

“He had the knife against my throat, Petyr. I was so scared. I have a cut on my stomach and my throat I think.” She sobbed. “Sandor and Bronn have him restrained so he can’t do anything.”

“Where are you now?” He growled.

“Tormund’s café.”

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be there soon, okay. Don’t worry, my sweet girl. I’ll make him pay for this.”

“But, Petyr, what about the Lannisters?” Sansa sobbed once more.

He was silent for a short moment, “don’t worry about that, Sansa. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she gasped.

“Stay there, I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended and Sansa wiped her face, getting rid of the fallen tears. She looked back up to Joffrey and smirked slightly. “Sorry, Joffrey, what were you saying about your mother?”

“Oh, I have never been more turned on,” Bronn grinned from behind Joffrey. “You are one smart lady.”

Sandor smirked and nodded, “yes, she is.”

“No!” Joffrey shouted against Bronn’s hand. “I will kill you. I’ll kill you all!”

“Shut the fuck up, you blonde twat,” Tormund grunted. He pulled Sansa towards him and hugged her tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Red. You didn’t deserve anything he’s put you through.”

Sansa hugged him back tighter and fought _real_ tears back. She gulped and pushed her face further into the crook of his neck. “Thank you, Tor. Thank you for everything.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and hoisted her off the ground slightly, “I love you.”

The words warmed her immediately. _I love you, Tormund. I’m not sick. I’ve never been sick. I love him._ Sansa pulled her head away and eyed him, “I love you, too.” She searched his face. She meant it, meant it in the way she thought he didn’t.

Tormund smiled sadly and put her down, _he doesn’t love me like that._ She ignored the clenching around her heart and sighed as her feet touched the ground once more.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and 4 police officers marched in.

It all happened so quickly. They took statements and their names, their phone numbers and the video proof from the cameras. And most importantly, they took a screaming Joffrey away in handcuffs. Sansa sighed happily as she watched them drive away, Joffrey still screaming in the back of a police car. Her smile broadened once Petyr strolled through the doors, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Sansa,” he grinned as he walked up to her.

Sansa watched the three men bristle slightly as she hugged the man weakly as they tried to avoid her cuts. “Petyr, thank you for coming.”

“You were magnificent on the phone, my darling,” he beamed as they separated from the hug. He cupped her face lovingly.

She smiled, “thank you. He believed it enough.”

“Oh, I wish I could’ve seen his face. Did you mention us having sex?” Petyr stood back and placed his briefcase and another bag on the table.

“Of course, I did.” Sansa sat down opposite him.

He chuckled loudly. “Sit, please,” he urged to the other men. They stood still, staring at the pair. Their faces struck with confusion. “Sansa, dear, did you not explain?”

“Hm?” Sansa asked before she looked around to the rest of her friends, “oh, no. I haven’t had the time. Please, sit down you three.”

Still wary from being told to sit the last time, the three men slowly grabbed a chair and sat around the table. “Sansa and I have never had sex,” Petyr spoke. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a file.

“You haven’t?” Tormund asked Sansa.

She shook her head, “never. When Petyr helped me leave Joffrey, we knew he’d come back eventually to find me. We had to have something believable as to why Petyr would want to help me. Sex was the only thing that Joffrey was afraid of me doing behind his back.”

“I offered to fulfil the idea, make it come true. But Sansa refused,” Petyr winked at Sansa. They both ignored the three small growls from the other men.

“Quiet, Baelish. Do you have everything?” She touched the file between them on the table.

“Feel free to check. I just need the video from the security tape, your new statements from this incident, photographs of your neck and stomach, and any other injuries or proof.”

Sansa hummed in response and opened the file. She took the photographs and statements out. She placed them on the table and inspected them all. Photographic proof of Sansa’s abuse from Joffrey from bruises to photos of Joffrey actually hitting her; screenshots of messages Joffrey and Ramsay had sent; a timeline of their relationship; statements from those who worked in the house they had shared with the Lannister’s; statements from Baelish and Sansa themselves; medical records. “You can take a photo of the scar now, too.” She muttered quietly as she picked up different photos.

“Are you sure, Sansa?” Petyr asked.

She put the photos down and smiled sadly, “yes. There’s no point hiding it anymore. It’ll be on the security tape. He made me show them all.”

“Oh, Sansa,” Petyr sighed sadly, placing his hand over hers.

“It’s alright. But, promise me that this will finally be enough to get him put away? Please, Petyr.” Tears streamed down her cheeks once more as she watched the three men’s eyes locked on the photos in front of them. “I can’t go through it again.”

Petyr quickly stood up, he walked over to Sansa’s seat and knelt down beside her. He took her hands in his and kissed the palm of each hand. “I promise, my darling, this will be enough.”

“I thought you haven’t fucked?” Bronn asked suddenly.

Sansa tore her eyes away from Petyr and looked over her shoulder to Bronn, who sat next to Petyr’s seat. She laughed tearfully, “we haven’t.”

“Then why is he looking at you like that?” Tormund huffed.

“Sansa,” Petyr chuckled, “where on earth did you find these cavemen?”

Sansa laughed once more, louder and happier than before. “Shut up, Petyr.” She turned back to the three men, “Petyr is one of longest and dearest friends. I met him when we lived at Lannister’s manor. He helped me through Joffrey’s abuse. We’ve not been able to talk since I left Joffrey, he had to collect all of this information and keep away from me so it didn’t interfere with the process – we couldn’t let anything about our friendship ruin our chances.”

“I’ve missed you, Sansa.”

Sansa looked back at Petyr, “I’ve missed you, too. Thank you for coming and helping me.”

“Anything for you.” He stood back up and held his hand out for her, “photographs?”

“Right,” she nodded. “Is it alright if they stay with me?”

The three men behind her stood up as she did. He cocked his eyebrow knowingly, “of course. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your cavemen bodyguards.”

Sansa’s nose scrunched as she laughed. “They’re not my bodyguards.”

“Ah,” Petyr winked, “but they are your cavemen. Would it be alright if someone closed the shutters? Sansa will have to partially undress for some photos.”

Tormund nodded silently and moved to the windows; he quickly pulled the shutters down and turned the lights on. “Is that alright?”

“Perfect,” Petyr purred as he stared at Sansa.

“Petyr Baelish, _you_ are a caveman.” She laughed.

He pulled a camera out of his bag and chuckled, “only for you.” He swiftly dodged Sansa’s playful slap and winked at her once more. “Would it be alright if you took your top off, Sansa? Would you be comfortable with all of us here?”

“It’s alright,” Sansa smiled sadly. “Joffrey took it off with them here anyway. Besides, Bronn’s the only one in the room who hasn’t seen me undress.” She added quietly.

Petyr chuckled once more and shook his head at her, “unlucky devil.” He nodded towards Bronn, “you alright with this?”

“I won’t look anywhere I’m not supposed to,” Bronn spoke from behind Sansa.

Petyr eyed him for a moment. His eyes flickered between the three men as they stood closely by Sansa, he finally looked back at the red-haired beauty. “Sansa. Are you aware you’re about to take your top off in front of three men who are in love with you?”

Sansa scoffed and pulled her bloodied top off quickly, “I thought you were over me, Petyr?”

He shook his head once more with a sigh, he gestured towards her bruising wrists and took pictures of her outstretched arms. “Sorry, _four_ men.” He stood closer towards her and took a picture of the dark purple finger marks on her shoulders.

“Three,” Sansa smiled at the man.

“Turn around please, darling.” He watched as she turned to face the men behind her, they averted their eyes quickly, “definitely four.”

Sansa furrowed her eyebrows, “what do you mean?” She listened as the camera _clicked_ as Petyr took photos in silent. “Petyr?” More silence as he took the pictures of each shoulder and shoulder blade. She looked up and finally caught Tormund’s gaze. “Tormund’s just my best friend.” She watched her friend’s face for a reaction – nothing.

Petyr hummed sarcastically, “right. Turn around again please.” She tore her eyes away from Tormund and turned to face Petyr. Softly, he lifted her chin and took several pictures of Sansa’s neck and the blood trail from the base of her throat and seeped into the lace of her bra. “Do you honestly believe that?” He asked.

“Yes.” She ignored the pain in her chest once more. She didn’t want any more reminders of how Tormund saw her as _just_ a friend.

“And, did you believe when you thought the other two were just your friends?” Petyr asked, taking more pictures of her throat.

“Actually,” Sansa cleared her throat, “Sandor is my ex. So, I knew about one.”

Petyr lowered the camera for a moment as his eyes scanned Sandor. “Of course, I should’ve realised.” He turned back to his camera and kneeled slightly, taking numerous pictures of her stomach; the cut had stopped bleeding. “Are you going to go to the hospital?”

“No. There were no paramedics sent. I have a first aid box at home I will use, they're only superficial cuts anyway.” She muttered until she returned back to their previous conversation. “You’re losing your touch, Baelish,” Sansa purred.

“Don’t break my heart again, Sansa.” He smirked from behind the camera.

Sansa tutted, “you broke your own heart. I told you I was interested in a long-term relationship. You weren’t.”

Petyr stood and lowered the camera once more, Sansa lowered her chin slightly to look at him. “Ah, yes.” He sighed. “I will carry that regret to my grave. Now, are you alright if I take a few of the scar?”

“That’s fine,” she smiled sadly.

Sansa turned to her side and faced the door. She looked down to the floor and bit the inside of her cheek. “You alright?” Petyr asked.

“I hate those scars,” she whispered.

Petyr sighed, “I know. But we can use it to get Joffrey _and_ Ramsay.”

She nodded and listened as Petyr took more pictures. “I told him I knew about him and Marge.”

He chuckled from behind the camera, “how did he react?”

“That angry vein on his forehead made an appearance.”

Petyr laughed loudly and had to lower his camera, “I wish I was there.”

“You would’ve had me in your lap if you were,” she winked at him.

“Oh, really?” He mused, taking photos once more.

Sansa hummed in agreement. “Yup. He made met sit on all of their laps. Got information out of them as he had his knife against my throat.”

Petyr tutted under his breath angrily. “Bastard.” He took one more photo and stood up straight. He went through the photos, “though I do remember you not having a knife to your throat the last time you sat on my lap. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Sansa shook her head at him with a smile, “need any more photos?”

“Another of your throat if that’s alright.” She nodded and stood back to face him once more. “What did he want?”

“He just gave the guys some options.” She huffed.

“Yeah? What were the options?” He asked, taking the photos. Sansa cleared her throat awkwardly. Petyr looked up from the camera to her and smirked. “Ah, that’s how you know they all love you.”

“Two,” Sansa huffed.

“Three,” Petyr argued once more. He nodded at the pictures, “you can wipe the blood away and put your top back on now.”

“I’ll just shower at home.” She put her top back on.

Petyr nodded and moved back to the table. He sat down once more and collected the pictures, grimacing at the bad bruises. He picked up one of the medical reports and frowned, he was about to put it back into the file when Sansa carefully plucked it from him. “Sansa,” he groaned quietly, “don’t.”

She ignored him and read the report. She had only read it once, all of those years ago. She sat in her seat slowly, “he said I killed them.”

“You miscarried, Sansa.” Petyr sat opposite her.

She nodded slowly, still reading the report. She failed to notice the remaining men moved to sit back in their seats. Tormund sat beside her and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Red, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Sansa spoke quietly.

Tormund sighed and carefully took the report out of her hand as he moved his hand from her shoulder. He urged her to look at him, “you don’t need to tell me anything. Especially not something like this. You’re my best friend, I’ll never get angry for you not telling me something. I’m just glad you’re alright now, that you’re safe.”

Sansa smiled at him, her eyes glistening, “thank you, Tor.”

He nodded with a smile and passed the report to Baelish. Sansa turned back to face the table and noticed Petyr’s smirk. “Three.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “two.”

He held up three fingers and winked. “Ask them all.”

“No, I don’t need to,” Sansa crossed her arms across her chest.

Petyr cocked his eyebrows up at her and crossed his arms across his own chest, challenging her. “Come on, Lady Stark. Prove me wrong.”

She pondered for a few seconds, “you’re right. There are three.”

Petyr met her gaze and rolled his eyes, “four.”

“Three,” Sansa challenged.

He shook his head, “prove me wrong.”

“You’ve always liked making things awkward, haven’t you, Lord Baelish?” She sat back in her chair; her arms still crossed against her chest.

“It’s a gift.” He unfolded his arms and rested them on the table. “You’ve always been good at proving me wrong, show me your gift.”

She eyed him and finally nodded. “Alright. Are you in love with me, Petyr?”

“I am,” he smirked.

She turned her head to face Bronn, “are you in love with me?”

Bronn gulped audibly and blew a breath from his lips, “that I am.”

Sansa smiled at him softly and nodded her head. “I’m glad you’ve told me.” Her eyes then fell on Sandor, who sat next to Bronn, “are you still in love with me, Sandor?”

“I am, Little Bird.” He grunted.

“I’m sorry to both of you for how Joffrey made you tell me. I know it wasn’t under the circumstances any of us would have liked. But thank you both for being honest with me.” She smiled at the men and sighed, “I really am sorry.” Both of the men shook their heads, not allowing her to apologise. She smiled once more and finally turned to Tormund on her left.

“Tormund, are you in love with me?” Sansa was expecting a quick _no_. She wasn’t expecting to sit in silence as Tormund stared at her with his deep, dark eyes. She furrowed her eyebrows at his silence. Hope squirmed its way into her chest and stomach, along with the ever-annoying fluttering. She held her breath and watched as Tormund’s eyes flickered around her face. “Tor?” She squeaked quietly.

“I love you.”

“You love me?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Tor, are you in love with me? Or are you saying you love me as I love Arya?”

He leant back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure her out as much as she tried to figure him out. “Which way do you want me to mean it?”

Sansa huffed, “just answer the question.”

“You answer the question,” Tormund countered.

They stared at each other for a long, _long_ time. She knew Tormund wouldn’t crack. _He’s not in love with me_. She sighed and her eyes fell from his. “When do you think this will all be sorted, Petyr?” Sansa turned back to face the man opposite her. She noticed Sandor, Bronn _and_ Petyr all angrily stare at Tormund. “Petyr?”

Petyr quickly looked to Sansa and smiled sadly, “sorry, darling. As soon as possible. I’ll deal with Cersei and the other Lannister’s. You go home and rest. I’ll keep you updated.”

Sansa nodded and stood, the men following suit quickly after. “Thank you, all of you for being here today.” She moved from her seat and to Petyr. “Thank you for doing all of this for me, Petyr. I don’t where I would be if you never helped me back then. I owe you so much.”

Petyr smiled and pulled her into a hug. “All I want from you is your happiness. Find what makes you happy, Sansa, and fight for it.” He pulled away from her slightly and pressed a slow kiss to her forehead.

She smiled up at him and moved away from his embrace once they were ready to separate. Slowly, she made her way to Bronn, who smiled widely at her. “I’m so sorry, Bronn.”

He shook his head at her and picked her up in a careful hug, holding him against her, yet still mindful of her throat and stomach. “Don’t you apologise, love. I’m just glad you’re alright. You’re a strong one, you are. That cunt has nothing on you. We’ll all be here for you, whatever and whenever you need.” He put her down and winked at her.

“Thank you,” Sansa smiled. Slowly, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Text me sometime, please."

Bronn smiled at her, unable to speak for a moment, the kiss burned his cheek. “Yep. I will. Yeah. Definitely.”

Sansa laughed at the man and placed a hand on his cheek for a small moment until she walked away from him. She stood in front of Sandor and smiled sadly. “You never should’ve left.”

“I know, Little Bird.” He rasped.

“I’ve missed having you in my life. Do you think we could ever be friends?”

He nodded his head, “we’re already friends in my eyes.”

“Good,” she smiled and let out a deep breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. She grabbed his hand in hers and stroked it carefully. “Keep in contact. I’ll save your number under your actual name now.”

Sandor laughed, “good. I never realised how lucky I was. To be able to actually wake up each morning with you beside me, I never should’ve let that go. I was too much of a coward.” He looked over her shoulder for a brief moment, before his eyes found hers again, “if you love someone, Little Bird, you should never be afraid to tell them. You get that lucky cunt, grab him by the balls and tell him how you feel.”

She cocked an eyebrow up at him as she laughed. “You know something I don’t, Clegane?”

“You’re too clever, Little Bird. There’s not a thing in this shitty world you wouldn’t be figure out if you thought hard enough.” Slowly, he brought up his hand rested it against her cheek, stroking her softly. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, Sansa. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you and I did. I let us both down. I just want you to be happy and no _coward_ should stop that from happening.”

Sansa watched him for a moment. They stared at each other and Sansa definitely knew that Sandor had figured something out that she hadn’t; he was trying to tell her, without actually telling her. She placed her hand over his and smiled. “Thank you for being the person I always knew you were.”

Sandor stilled for a long moment, shocked at her words. Warmth filled his chest as she looked up to him with her big, wide blue eyes. The eyes that filled his dreams and nightmares. The eyes he wished never to look away from. The eyes that told him of her forgiveness. “I love you, Little Bird. More than anything and anyone.”

“I know.” She smiled softer and squeezed the hand under hers. “You’ll fall in love with someone new one day, and when you do, you don’t let them go, okay? Don’t be scared. Trust yourself and trust _them_.”

“I hope they’re as pretty as you.” Sandor winked and softly moved his hand away from her cheek.

Sansa rolled her eyes and chuckled quietly. With a small shake of her head, she turned away and faced Tormund. He was staring at her with narrowed eyes; examining her, trying to work out whatever thoughts were going on in his mind. “You ready to go home?” She asked, pulling him out of whatever he was thinking.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’ll come in early tomorrow and clean up. I think we both just want to go bed and sleep this day off.”

She laughed softly once again as she walked over to the ginger, “definitely.” His darkening eyes followed her as she took slow steps closer to him. “Who’s telling Arya?”

His eyes lit somewhat at the question, but the darkness and intensity remained in his gaze as he watched her. “If she’s with her lad, she won’t be back until tomorrow morning. That’ll give us enough time to figure out what to say to her. Together.”

Sansa couldn’t help but feel somewhat confused. She knew they were talking about the same thing, they had to have been, but there was something about his response that made her question it. She narrowed her eyes and took her final step. They stood mere inches apart and Sansa _finally_ noticed how intense his eyes were watching her. A feeling erupted through her chest and warmth filled her. Her fingers tingled and her stomach flipped. _I love you. Tormund, please, love me back. I need you to love me back one day._ “I think she’d get annoyed if we don’t tell her straight away, you know what she’s like.” Sansa ignored the stammering of her heart.

Tormund hummed in response and nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off hers. He scratched his bearded chin. “I suppose your right, Red. Let’s go home. I’ll make you some dinner, we’ll have a chat and then we’ll text the Little Wolf.”

Sansa wanted to reply, to question what he meant by a _chat_. But she couldn’t. All she could focus on were his eyes. His iced, sea coloured eyes turned dark and wide. “Why are you looking at me like that?” The words fell out of her mouth quickly.

“Like what?” His voice amused yet his eyes had not changed in intensity.

Sansa raised her hands and gestured to his face, “like that!”

With a cocked eyebrow, he shrugged. “I’m not looking at you like anything. This is how I always look at you?”

“No, you don’t.” Sansa huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. She quickly turned her head over her shoulder to the other men, “isn’t he looking at me funny?”

“Darling,” Petyr purred with a smirk, “he’s been looking at you like that since the moment I arrived.”

“Aye, love, he has. Since the moment I met him,” Bronn spoke.

“Yup,” Sandor grunted.

Sansa kept her head slightly over her shoulder as she gulped. “No,” she spoke quietly as she turned back to face Tormund, “I would’ve noticed. You’ve never looked at me like that.”

“Red,” Tormund laughed, “I don’t know whether to be offended or not.”

“Why?” She asked. Sansa wanted to ignore his gaze, but she couldn’t. He hadn’t looked at her like that before – _had he_? She would’ve noticed, of course she would’ve. But everyone was surprised at _her_ reaction, not the way he looked at her. _But he looks like… no. He doesn’t love me. That’s not what this. He looks at me like that because I’m his best friend. He loves and cares for me the way a best friend would – should._

Another laugh spilled from his throat. “We’ve been friends for years now and you’ve only just realised how I _look_ at you. I’m worried about all of the stuff you haven’t noticed.”

“Is there something I should notice?” Sansa asked with a hammering heart.

He took a small step towards her, minimising the number of inches between them. He looked down at her and noticed her gulp and the hitch in her breath. A small smirk crossed his face. _This is new,_ he thought. “Is there something you want to notice?”

Her heart fell. Again. The balloon of hope in her chest deflated quicker than she could blink. With a small smile up at the man, she shook her head and took a step back. “I need to wash this blood off me.” She didn’t bother with waiting for his reaction, she looked away from his face and turned around. With sad eyes and a fake smile, she looked at the remaining 3 men. They were looking directly at Tormund with unreadable expressions. “I’ll see you all soon. It’s been nice seeing you all today. You three have my number, so use it.”

They smiled at her and they bid their goodbyes once again, she hugged each of them and headed to the door, leaving Tormund to say his own goodbyes to the men.

“Sansa, did you drive here?” Petyr asked suddenly as she reached for the door handle.

“No, we walked. Why?” Sansa turned away from the door and noticed how Petyr had walked over to her and left the other men by the counter as they talked quietly.

Petyr arched an eyebrow at her with a smirk, “the blood.”

She looked down at herself and noticed the blood stains on her cut top and she knew streaks were also on throat where she couldn’t see. “Does it look that bad?”

“We both know how blood can panic those unknowing.”

Sansa’s head snapped up at the man and she felt the blood rise to her face immediately. “Petyr,” she groaned loudly.

“I thought we moved on from that, darling?” Petyr smirked wider.

She covered her face and leant her head against the cool glass of the door, “I pushed it out of mind.”

Petyr laughed loudly. “You’re the only one embarrassed about it, my love.”

“You should actually be the one embarrassed, Petyr. I’m embarrassed _for_ you.” She removed the hands from her face and smiled at the man. “Anyway – what do you suggest about my little problem?”

Petyr wafted his hand in the air once more, ignoring her question. “If I hung on to every embarrassing moment in my life, I wouldn’t be able to leave my room. It’s better to see the moment through and learn from it, my love.”

Sansa cocked her eyebrow and continued to lean her head against the glass. She failed to notice the other three pairs of eyes watching and listening to them intently. “You aren’t embarrassed about it?”

“No.” He shrugged.

“Really?” She watched as he nodded and she smirked at him, challenging him. With her still heavy heart, she moved away from the door and stood closer to him. The tips of their shoes touched, and her breasts were a couple of centimetres from touching his chest. He arched an eyebrow at her. “You are honestly going to stand there and say that it _didn’t_ embarrass you.”

“It didn’t embarrass me.”

“Alright.” She threw her arms over his shoulders and let both of her hands join behind his neck. “How about we replay the moment and see if it embarrasses you this time?”

His breath hitched in his throat. “I think we were standing a lot closer that time.”

“Oh. Really?” She teased, keeping still. “I don’t remember it that way. I remember us standing like this. I also remember how, just before you tried to kiss me, I subtly tried to tell you nothing could happen _that_ night. You arched your neat eyebrow, not understanding what I was trying to tell you. I told you I was _bleeding,_ and you threw a fit. Asking who hurt me, where I was bleeding, trying to touch every part of me until you _realised._ ”

Sansa beamed at the sight of his slightly red cheeks. “Alright, my love. I get your point.”

“And what point is that?” She asked.

He rolled his eyes with a small smile. “That I can get embarrassed. However, you should be flattered and not embarrassed of that memory.”

“Flattered? Why?”

He let his hands rest on her hips and pressed a kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, he smiled at her shocked reaction and how her arms had tensed over his shoulders. “Because, my dear Sansa, I would’ve killed anyone who made you bleed.” He smiled at her once more and sighed sadly. “You know, Sansa, I would be your easiest option.”

Confusion fogged over her state of shock. “Easiest option?”

“Yes. You’re easiest option. You could leave with me right now and I’d take you away from this place. I’d take you to the Vale. Or back home to Winterfell; wherever you’d want to go, I’d take you. I love you, Sansa. I always have. You know how much I care for you; I want you to sit by my side as we grow old together. You could leave these lot and come with me. Avoid the drama of your ex and his best friend both being in love with you; and even your _own_ best friend. Deep down you know he loves you. You know behind all of that doubt and lack of self-worth that he loves you. We’re all so blindly in love with you, Sansa. _All_ of us. I could take you away from all of this drama, away from the awkwardness and take us far away. Where we’d be happy – just us.”

Sansa stared at the man holding her. His hands gripped her waist tightly and his eyes bore into her own. He was begging her and they both knew it. Petyr Baelish had never begged her for anything in his life; she was somewhat sure he had never begged from _anyone_ before. With a large gulp, Sansa tried to take back control of her breathing. She blinked rapidly and she scanned his face. She couldn’t concentrate on anything for more than a second. All of what he said danced around her mind. “Petyr,” she whispered.

The man sighed sadly, “I know. You’re sorry. You want me to be happy but that can’t be with you. I know what you’re going to say, Sansa. You’ve said it all before.”

He slowly began to remove his hands from her before she tightened her hold behind him and jerked him slightly, he quickly grabbed her waist once more and looked at her. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you know what I’m going to say, Petyr Baelish.” She tensed her jaw and held his eye silently for a moment until he nodded. “Good. Now, I want to say I’m sorry. But not for the reason you think. I want to say sorry for not thinking you’re an easy option for me. Once, you were all I knew. You consumed me, Petyr. You made it clear from the start on how you felt, even when I was with Joff. You helped me through it all, you carried me to my room when I couldn’t walk from his beatings, you manipulated him to leave me alone on some nights when you knew I wouldn’t be able to cope. You were my only friend in Kings Landing at one point. You saved me.”

Petyr gulped. “But you can’t love me.”

“I tried, honestly. But I can’t do that to you or to me. Petry, you’re someone I need in my life but not in the way you want. We work well together and we’re a lot like each other in some ways, but you must know we’d never work. We’d burn each other out. You have so many secrets, so many plans and ideas you’d never be able to tell me. I need to be with someone who would trust me completely, someone who would tell me everything. Someone who would be able to tell me _all_ about their day without worrying about having to keep certain parts out. And you need someone who isn’t me. Someone who would trust _you_ completely. I can’t be in a relationship when I know I’d hurt you, Petyr. I know I will, and you know it, too. You’re in love with me and you’re in love with the picture of us being together, side by side. But you wouldn’t love the reality of us. You’re not an easy option for me – you’d be the hardest. I wouldn’t want to destroy what we have or taint that image of what we could become.” Tears quickly fell from her eyes and a sob tried to force its way from her throat, “I couldn’t do that to you, Petyr. Or to me.” A sob escaped her throat and Petyr pulled her towards him in an embrace. He hugged her tightly and stroked her hair as she cried against his shoulder.

“It’s alright, love.” His voice was hushed as he hugged her. “I understand.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how long she cried on his shoulder. She needed it after the day she had, but he hadn’t quite expected it to go on for how long it did. She had forgotten about the other people in the café. Sansa only knew of her and Petyr. “Petyr, I can’t breathe.”

She felt him tense under her. Slowly, he manoeuvred her from his shoulder and to stand in front of him. He watched as her chest heaved quickly, her eyes blown and scared. “Think of him.”

Tears fell once again. “Him?” She could feel her chest caving in, her fingers tingled, and her legs shook.

“Sansa, think of Tormund.”

Her head stung with his words. “Why Tormund?”

Petyr watched her for a moment. He watched as she continued to struggle to breathe, tears fell wildly, and she shook horribly. “Think of the way he makes you feel. Think of how you feel when he touches your shoulder. Or plays with your hair. Think about how he hugs you.” The images flooded her mind as Petyr spoke. She closed her eyes to welcome them fully and she watched them all – she felt them all. She felt the warmth flow through her, replacing the cold from the lack of oxygen, she felt the warmth return to her numb fingers and her throat. “Think of how much you love him,” Petyr’s voice graced her ears. With her eyes still closed, she allowed herself _finally_ to enjoy the feeling without the guilt and fear laced through it all. “Now, breathe, Sansa.”

Slowly, Sansa found the oxygen flow through her lungs with ease. She opened her eyes and Petyr’s green eyes welcomed her. Movement over his shoulder attracted her view. She followed the movement and her eyes landed on ginger hair. A tall man with ginger hair. A man with a slacked open jaw, wide blue eyes, sitting in a chair with his hands clenching against the edge of the table. In the back of her mind somewhere, Sansa heard Petyr ask if she was alright. She definitely was _not_ alright. She had a panic attack, have someone other than Tormund calm her down and somewhat admit that she was in love with the ginger bear. _Fuck_. She heard Petyr’s voice once more, but her eyes couldn’t move from the blue staring back at her. He knew. Tormund knew Sansa was in love with him. Fear punched her in her gut. She was jerked slightly by Petyr. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she looked back at Petyr. “Thank you, Petyr, for helping me.” She pulled away from his grasp. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” She quickly pulled the door handle and ignored the protests from the others in the room and left the café. She slammed the door shut behind her and quickly walked off.

Sansa heard the bell from the door ring. She heard it ring four times. She picked up her pace and ignored the men shouting from behind her. People had begun to notice her and her top as they walked through the street. With a deep breath, her legs picked up and her pace changed from a brisk walk to a quick jog. She darted around and through the gaps of people as they walked. The streets were busier than they were earlier and they sky had begun to darken. She could still hear the voices shout for her, but they weren’t as loud anymore. She came to a crossroad. Sansa knew if she were to turn left, she would end up at home quicker. But if she took the route straight ahead or even right, she wouldn’t know where she would end up. _He knows. He knows I love him. Gods, he must hate me. I’m his best friend – I’ve ruined everything._ Sansa didn’t know where to go. With a deep breath, she blocked out the shouts getting louder – closer, and she began to run once more. She took the road straight ahead and thanked herself for all of those early morning jogs and gym sessions with Tormund and Arya.

She knew she was being stupid. She was running away. Literally. But she couldn’t face him; she couldn’t bear to see the look on his face. The look of disgust, guilt, pity. She couldn’t do it. She ran faster with every image of how she thought he would look at her entered her mind. Her lungs burned and her legs ached, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t stop until she reached a cliff above the crashing sea. She looked around and listened for any voices or steps, but there were none. She was alone. Sansa finally decided to catch her breath, she slowly sat down and allowed her legs to dangle off the edge of the cliff. A herd of trees surrounded her and the cliff, she was hidden and would remain hidden until someone stumbled upon the cliff as she did. Sansa just hoped no one did. She leaned back on her hands behind her back and breathed deeply. The sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks beneath calmed her. The sky had darkened immensely during her run and she struggled to see much around her. The only thing Sansa could see was the water. The water enticed her. The moonlight bounced off it and reflected it up to her eyes.

Tears fell once again. She was an _idiot, a stupid girl who never learns_. Always falling for the wrong people and allowing herself to get hurt. Joffrey had shown her first how stupid she had always been, then Ramsay, Sandor and now she had no one to blame but herself. She knew Tormund could never love her and yet she fell in love with him anyway. Tormund was her best friend and now she had lost him, too. She lost everyone eventually. Her parents, her siblings, her friends. Everyone. Sansa allowed more tears to fall until an idea launched itself into her mind. _Is it your fault?_ Sansa sat up straight and tried to ignore the question; however, the more she tried to ignore it, the more it seemed to make sense. She _was_ the common denominator. She left her parents; she wasn’t even there when they died. Nor Robb. She launched herself at Joffrey. She allowed the abuse to go on, cutting off all of her friends and family. She did nothing when Sandor left, she didn’t fight for him. She stopped texting him and let him go. She was the one who fell in love with her best friend. It _was_ her fault. _I truly am worthless. I do nothing but hurt people._ More tears fell as she cradled her face. She hadn’t noticed how much she had scooted herself to the edge of her cliff. A lot more of her legs dangled than before. _What should I do?_

“Sansa?” Someone gasped from behind her.

Sansa spun her head around to the voice and watched as Tormund emerged from behind a bunch of trees, her bag clutched tightly in his hand. He was breathing heavily, and she could see the sweat glistening on his forehead from the moonlight. “Tormund?”

“You scared the _fuck_ out of me!” He breathed heavily. He knelt down behind her and softly pulled her away from the cliff to sit in front of him.

Sansa gulped and moved her eyes down to the floor, “I’m sorry.”

He tensed his jaw and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “Sansa, please, don’t do that again. Don’t run from me.”

Sansa wanted to turn away from him, but the grip on her chin and the pleading look plastered on his face kept her still. “I promise. I’m so sorry, Tor.”

Tormund shook his head softly and pulled her towards him, hugging her tightly. She could feel both of their wild heartbeats slamming against each of their own chests. Sansa moved her hands away from her knees and wrapped them behind his back, clawing him somewhat to pull him closer to her. Tormund smiled and hid his head in the crook of Sansa’s neck, the smell of her hair and her neck consumed him. “We need to talk about what happened, Red.”

“Please,” Sansa’s voice cracked, “I can’t hear you say it. Please don’t say it.”

He sighed into her hair. “What don’t you want me to say, Red?”

“Can you please just stop answering my questions with a question.” Sansa clenched her eyes shut and ignored the sword over her head – it was coming, and she knew it, the inevitable rejection.

Tormund laughed under his breath, “I only do it when I’m afraid of your reaction of what I actually want to say.”

Sansa loosened her grip on her best friend and leaned back slightly to look at him. “I will never react badly when you’re telling the truth. You’re my best friend. There’s nothing you could say that would turn me away from you.”

The man sighed and looked down at her pointedly. “And I you, Sansa.”

Guilt punched her in the gut. She ran away. She ran away from her best friend and didn’t trust him enough to wait for his response. “I’m so sorry, Tor. I panicked and I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Hey,” Tormund squeezed her tightly as he caught her eyes. “I could _never_ hate you. Ever. Even if you murdered someone, I would help you hide the body and cover for you if we ever got caught.” Sansa chuckled and her nose scrunched slightly. Tormund removed one hand from her back and tapped her nose softly. “You’re even more adorable than ever when your nose scrunches up like that.”

She batted his hand away and her tears ceased, “I don’t do that.”

“Yes, you do.” He tapped her nose once more with a smile. He watched as Sansa rolled her eyes and he wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. “Sansa, we do need to talk.”

Sansa took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright.”

“I wanted to do this at home with dinner. I never imagined doing it in the dirt, covered in sweat after running around the whole city for an hour.”

“Do what?” She asked with furrowed brows.

Tormund looked at her and he smiled slightly, “I wanted to tell you truth.” He cleared his throat and watched as Sansa nodded slowly, allowing him to continue. Tormund took a deep breath. “After today and all of those twats back in the café, I wanted to take you home and make you dinner, sit you down at our table and tell that I’m in love with you.”

Sansa blinked rapidly as her breath caught in her throat. “What?”

“Sansa Stark, I am in love with you. I have never been in love with anyone and falling in love with you was one of the scariest things I have ever gone through. I thought I was going crazy. Always struggling to breathe when you came into the room, or when you touched me. Gods, especially when you asked me to share your bed. Waking up each morning with you by my side, it took me more than a few minutes to realise that we were just friends. That day you came to me after Clegane had left, hearing you cry over him, it broke my heart. I wanted nothing more than to go and find wherever he had run off to and cut his head from his shoulders. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, Red. I would do anything for you, and I know you know that. But one thing I will never be able to do, is to sit there and deny my love for you. You asked me not to say _it_ and I know that you thought I didn’t love you. But I do. I have loved you for so long, Red, and I have prayed every day for you to love me too.”

“You,” Sansa gulped, “love me?"

Tormund smiled at her and the lack of understanding of his speech, “yes. I love you. I love you. I _love_ you.”

“You love me more than a best friend loves a best friend?”

“Sansa,” Tormund sighed and took her hands in his, “you are my best friend. You will _always_ be my best friend. But, yes, I love you more than a best friend should. I’m _in_ love with you.”

Sansa froze. She stared at him and swallowed the lump in her throat. _He loves me_. _He’s in love with me._

Tormund watched her with a hard gaze. He wanted to know what was going on in her head, to know what she was thinking. She was looking at him with such an intensity that Tormund couldn’t do anything but watch her. Worry gnawed at him; maybe he had read it wrong, heard wrong. “Do you love me, too?”

Sansa snapped out of her mind as soon as the words left his mouth. She furrowed her brows at the man and noticed the worried lines etched on his forehead. “Tor,” Sansa breathed, and turned her hands over beneath his and held them back, “of course, I love you.”

“But,” Tormund’s eyes saddened, “are you _in_ love with me?”

She moved her hands away from his and placed them over his shoulders, gripping the nape of his neck softly. “I am hopelessly, uncontrollably in love with you.”

Tormund’s frown changed into a smile slowly as the words processed in his mind. “You are?”

She smiled back at him widely, “I am.”

The ginger man watched her for a while, waiting for her to take the words back. But she didn’t. His smile widened and he enjoyed the feeling of warmth engulf him internally, whilst her arms warmed him externally. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please,” Sansa laughed.

Slowly, he raised his hands towards her. One stroked her cheek whilst the other went to the back of her neck. He stroked her skin briefly, taking in the way her breath hitched and how she gulped, how he noticed her cheeks pinken with the small amount of light from the moon’s reflection. With a gulp of his own, he tilted his head closer and she met him halfway. Their noses brushed and their lips met. He melted into the touch immediately – as did she, apparently. They pushed up against each other and deepened the kiss. Tormund smiled into the kiss; _I’m kissing Sansa. Sansa fucking Stark._ Tormund’s smile widened and the kiss stopped. He pulled back and noticed Sansa was smiling too. “Good enough for you, Red?”

“More than good enough.” Sansa smiled wider and rested her forehead against Tormund’s.

Tormund released a deep breath he hadn’t been aware he had been holding and his whole body felt at ease. More at ease than he had felt in a number of years. “I love you, Sansa.”

“I love you.”

Before Tormund could reply, his phone rang. “Shit, sorry.” He reluctantly pulled back from Sansa and dug in his pocket to pull out his phone. Without looking at the ID he answered. “Hello?”

“Listen, mate, I can’t find her. I’m fucking panicking. What if something happens to her?” Bronn breathed heavily.

Sansa rubbed her face guiltily and Tormund rubbed the back his neck. “It’s alright. Don’t worry. I found her, she’s alright.”

“Thank fuck. Oh, fuck me. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.” Bronn took a deep breath.

Sansa pointed at the phone and he furrowed her eyebrows at her in confusion. She rolled her eyes and took the phone. “Hey, Bronn. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Oh, love. It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re okay and not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Thanks Bronn,” she laughed.

Bronn chuckled. “Right. You and Tormund get home safely, alright? I’ll let Clegane and the other little man know you’re good.”

“I appreciate it, Bronn, thanks. I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“Alright, love. Be safe.”

She bid him goodbye with another thank you and ended the call. She handed the phone back to Tormund and smiled, “let’s go home.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Tormund winked. He stood up and held out his hand for Sansa to take. Softly, she placed her hand in his and he gently pulled her and her bag up. “Once we’re back, we should text Arya about what happened in the café. We’ll tell her about _us_ in the morning.”

They walked through the trees, still hand in hand. Sansa hummed in response, “is that your way of making us official, Tormund?”

He laughed loudly. “I thought my way of making it official was kissing you in the moonlight on a cliff.” Tormund smiled at the memory until a quick thought welcomed him, wiping the smile from his face instantly. “Red, why were you so close to the edge of the cliff when I turned up?” Sansa tensed. He felt it in her hand. He saw it as her shoulders hunched slightly. “Sansa?”

“I wasn’t going to jump – if that’s what you thought,” Sansa muttered quietly as they continued to walk. They finally reached the street.

“Hm,” Tormund tensed his jaw. “You thought of it though, didn’t you?”

Sansa grimaced. “I did.”

Tormund pulled her hand up to loop around his arm instead, he patted her hand and turned to face her slightly as they walked. “Red, I’ll always be there to pull you back from the cliff. Please don’t ever shut me out.”

“You’re not angry?” She braced herself for his response.

He stopped walking, pulling her to a stop too. He turned her around to face him and he frowned deeply. “Sansa, have I ever been angry at you?” She shook her head. “No, exactly. I have never been angry at you. Nor would I be angry about this. I want to help and be there for you; and as much as I want to wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you by my side at all times to avoid anything like that _ever_ again, I know I can’t. I love you, Red. I won’t judge how you for how you feel or how you act on those feelings. Ever.”

Tears welled in her eyes, “thank you, Tor."

Tormund pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she smiled. Sansa finally felt warm. Her heart was full and she was happy. Sansa was finally happy after so many months - possibly even years. She would always love Sandor, but she would always be in love with Tormund. She finally felt worth something.


End file.
